


we built our own house (with our hands over our hearts)

by tosca1390



Category: Dare Island Series - Virginia Kantra
Genre: F/M, doomed teens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:47:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26999905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tosca1390/pseuds/tosca1390
Summary: It’s strange to Josh that their argument in a parking lot should be the last time he see Thalia in person for ten years.It’s stranger to know that there are hundreds of letters in storage addressed to her that he’s never sent.There is a small ache in his chest that bears Thalia’s name. There have been other women – but he writes toher. There has been no one else.How Josh and Thalia break apart, and come back together.
Relationships: Josh Fletcher/Thalia Hamilton
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	we built our own house (with our hands over our hearts)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [empressearwig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/empressearwig/gifts).



> This is... three years in the making? For Jess - thank you for caring about doomed teens as much as I do.

*

The slip-slide of July into August is Josh’s least favorite part of the summer. It’s the sensation that freedom is slipping away, that expectations return. Dare Island is all muggy heat and thick breaths, and the place swarms with tourists. There isn’t a quiet space on the whole island. 

This year, it’s worse. He’s a rising senior, and questions of what’s next batter his ears. Matt always says it’s his choice, and Allison too; but he can see the look in their eyes when they edge around the subject, the awkward emails from his mother once monthly reminding him of tuition discounts at Chapel Hill. He smiles it off and helps his dad and grandpa with the tourists on the trips off the coast, babysits Taylor, plays handyman around the new house. Looming decisions keep him up at night, when he stares at his ceiling and hears the soft movement and murmurs of his dad and Allison downstairs. 

On the last Friday of July, he has an unexpected afternoon off. His dad’s on the boat and Allison is at some professional development teacher event on the mainland. Taylor’s with her friend Madison, and all Josh has is an empty house and nothing but humidity and Fezzik to keep him company. He sits sprawled across the stairs of the front porch – a porch he and his dad painted themselves just a few months ago – and tosses a worn and greying tennis ball to Fezzik, who plays gamely for five minutes before slumping on the porch floor next to him, panting and damp with sweat. 

“Same, buddy,” Josh murmurs, blinking into the white sunlight. It’s a quintessentially perfect beach day. He flexes his fingers and tosses the tennis ball between his palms, listening to the squawks of the gulls and the distant crunch of sand and gravel under tires. When he shuts his eyes and tips his head back to the sun, he doesn’t think of anything but cool nights and Thalia spread out over him and under him, all that gold-tinged peachy skin and her bright copper hair falling around him like a curtain. His fingers twitch. 

“Josh.”

Her voice, soft and even, breaks into the summer stillness. He opens his eyes and finds her at the edge of the porch steps, her hands clasped in front of her stomach. Slowly, he smiles and drags his gaze over her in a way he knows she likes, from her pretty bare legs under her sundress to her bare shoulders and flushed face, taking note of the silver and cobalt earrings winking at her earlobes. Those were her Christmas present, an embarrassing purchase that took a piece of his savings to do right. But he remembers her smile in the winter starlight, the pretty blush to her cheeks, and feeling as if he’d just won the lottery. 

“I was just thinking about you,” he says. Some of the tension between his shoulder blades releases with her presence. 

Thalia blinks and smiles, though it’s nervous. He knows her well enough now to recognize the tremors in her muscles and the twitch to her lips. “Is that right?”

He leans his elbows on his knees, the stretch of his t-shirt sticky against his back. “Yeah. C’mere.”

She sits on the stair below him, leaving Fezzik his space on the porch. Josh drops the tennis ball and slides his hand over the nape of her neck, bared by the cut of her dress and the upsweep of her curls. Gooseflesh rises under his palm and he grins. “Where are your kids?”

“Camille has them for the day for a trip to the mainland,” she says, leaning back against his shins. For a moment, he thinks he can see ten years into the future, waiting on the porch for her to come home and sit a while with him before they go in and make dinner together. It’s startling – but it isn’t the first time he’s thought about it. 

Every time he tells himself to forget it. It never works. 

He rests his hand on her shoulder, fingers playing with the thick strap of her dress. Her skin is warm and damp under his touch. “How’d you know I’d be here?”

“A wild guess,” she says softly, covering his hand with hers. “Josh – “

The practical, even tone to her voice puts him on edge, though it is familiar to him. This is different; she has _something to say_. 

She wouldn’t wear the earrings he gave her to break up with him. Would she? Damn. 

“I have to – “ she stops, uncomfortably tense between his knees. Her voice sounds thick all of a sudden, as if she is emotionally strained. Thalia so rarely loses control, particularly of her emotions; he prides himself on being able to rile her up just that much. 

“It’s okay,” he says, stroking the line of her shoulder and neck. 

“It’s not,” she says miserably, bowing her head forward. Inhaling deeply, she abruptly turns on her feet and shifts to kneel on the step before him, facing him as she rests her hands on his knees. “Josh, Camille asked if I would come back with them to France. As a study abroad year for senior year, and to teach English to the kids.”

Every muscle in his body freezes. He blinks, watching her beautiful, freckled face as it shifts into something awfully sad. The way her fingers clench on his knees, into the muscle there, it should hurt him. He doesn’t feel it. 

Next to them, Fezzik whines sadly. Josh can hear the waves against the shore, a distant roar. His mouth feels dry, his chest tight. “Uh – “

“My parents think it’s a great idea,” she says quickly. “They’ve been asking about arrangements for credits – and I have summer school credits anyway – and – “

“Do you think it’s a great idea?” he asks her, voice rough. 

For a long beat, she is quiet. Her beautiful face, flushed and curved, is still. “I do want to go,” she says keeping his gaze. Her eyes are damp. “But – “

His breathing starts back up again. He leans in and takes her face in his trembling hands, bringing her mouth to his for a kiss. She is eager and responsive, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him long and slow. He strokes his fingers against her damp warm skin, closing his eyes and breathing in the sweet scent of her hair. 

“Josh,” she whispers against his lips. He has never heard her so unsure. “I just – you _know_ \- “

He shushes her, kissing her again. He doesn’t want to talk – doesn’t want to think about how this changes the picture of what he wanted, in the secrecy of his dark room and his own thoughts. She fills his arms perfectly. 

Tucking her face into his neck, she inhales deeply. Her hands curve over the nape of his neck. “You know that I wouldn’t go if – “

“You were always going,” he says softly into her upswept curls. “I knew it. You knew it. It’s just – sooner.”

They are both quiet then, the weight of his words as heavy as the heat from the sun on their limbs. She sniffs softly against the line of his throat and he holds onto the sweet curve of her hip a little tighter. 

“When will you leave?” he asks softly. 

Thalia lifts her face to his, collected once more. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes damp, but she doesn’t look away. “Late August, when Camille and her family goes. The school year there doesn’t start until mid-September.”

“So, we have a month,” he says. “And then – we’ll figure it out.”

She blinks. “You – you want to stay together?”

His jaw sets tightly. “Did you not want to?”

“Of course – I just – Josh –“

She pulls away and gets to her feet, pacing in front of the porch steps. He rises as well, walking down the stairs to her. Fezzik lingers in the shade of the porch, tail thumping against the wooden planks. 

“All I meant was that we can enjoy this month,” he says, stammering slightly. Something about her always made him off-kilter. “And that we don’t need to decide about – things – if we don’t want to. Because I don’t – you know I don’t want to not see you, if you’re here.”

She pleats her hands into the skirt of her sundress and tips her face up to look at him. “Will it make it too hard to say goodbye in four weeks? Is there a difference between then and now?”

“That’s your mom talking,” he mutters, shoving his hands in his shorts pockets. 

“Well – she’s not wrong. Attachments only grow with time, and if we – “

“Do you want to stop seeing me?” he asks sharply. 

Wetting her lips, she shakes her head. “No,” she says. “I don’t.”

He steps to her and slides his hands over her bare arms, resting his palms on her shoulders. “Then let’s – let’s just have fun,” he says. “Like we have been all year.”

He won’t call her his girlfriend. He won’t tell her he is in love with her. For all intents and purposes, they both could have been dating everyone else on the island and it wouldn’t be a betrayal of what they defined for themselves up front. But Josh hasn’t kissed another girl since last September, and he knows he doesn’t want to kiss anyone else for a long time. He’s pretty sure Thalia’s story is similar. 

It’s easier on both their hearts if they keep those secrets to themselves. 

*

Three nights before Thalia leaves for France, Josh waits patiently in the living room of their home as Allison smooths imaginary creases from his button-down shirt, her gentle hands running over his shoulders and patting him lightly. 

“You look nice,” she says with a sad smile. 

Josh feels his face flush. “Allison, c’mon.”

She sighs. “I’m sorry. I’m just – “

Her words trail away. Josh can hear his dad moving around in the kitchen, fixing dinner, plates and bowls settling against the stone countertops. The house is nice; Allison’s done a good job with it, and there are touches of his dad in every room. But it’s not Josh’s home, and it doesn’t have to be his home. He’s got a plan. In a year, he’ll be gone. This is the home for his dad’s next chapter. Josh has a room to call his own, but he knows that his home is somewhere else for him to find. 

“I’m proud of you,” Allison says after a moment. 

Josh glances at his phone for the time before slipping it into his jeans pocket. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” she says, in that clipped prim tone of hers. “You’ve made this easier for Thalia. It’s still going to be difficult for both of you, but you’ve handled this so well.”

Josh thinks of the last three weeks. Of silences that stretch too long, when his thoughts turn to a fall without Thalia. When their friends talk about Homecoming and Prom, and the way Thalia’s mouth turns down at the corners. Hands fumbling in the back of her car and when she cried just once, curled up under him in his bed during the weekend his dad and Allison went away to celebrate their honeymoon. It’s been a summer of tension and unbearable happiness. He’s not a poet; he can’t put to words how it feels in his stomach when the sunlight catches in her hair or when she crinkles her nose in a laugh. Sometimes, he thinks about trying. 

He still hasn’t told Thalia about the Marines. About the information packet under his bed, and the emails from the recruiter on the mainland. How he’s applied for a passport; he stopped by the post office one day, riding in with Uncle Luke and Kate, paperwork and photo in hand. He doesn’t know how to tell her. He doesn’t know if he should. 

“Thanks, I guess,” he says tightly. 

“Oh, stop. You can be upset. I’m a Fletcher now, too. I get to see feelings,” Allison says with a watery smile. 

“Let ‘im go,” his dad says as he walks into the living room, eyes crinkling at the corners. “He’ll be late picking her up.”

They wave to him as Josh drives away, a solid unit on the freshly painted and weathered front porch. Josh stretches out in the driver’s seat and coasts along the road towards Thalia’s home, palms sweaty against the steering wheel. 

When he pulls up to her house (it’s always a jolt, that the house she grew up in is so large), she waits for him on the steps of the front porch. The only light is from the living room, and the driveway is empty of cars. He steps out of the car as she makes her way down to him, the beach-grass green color of her sundress vibrant against her skin in the dying summer light. 

“Hey,” he says. 

Thalia blinks up at him. “Hi.”

“Where are your folks?” he asks. 

She smiles, blushing faintly in the blue-purple light. “Out for the night. Sisters are at a sleepover.”

Josh thinks of his dinner reservation. He thinks of the empty house before them. 

“Thalia – “

She pops up onto her toes and kisses him, her arms sliding around him in familiarity. Shutting his eyes, he sets his hands on her hips and pulls her in close, their noses bumping. She tastes and smells sweet, like vanilla iced coffee – like she was in Jane’s bakery today. 

Thalia pulls back, breathless, her mouth partly open. “I thought – after dinner – “

He lifts her off her feet, her ballet flats falling off her heels, and kisses her square on the mouth. “Yeah,” he says, voice husky. “You’ve got some bright ideas.”

She laughs as he sets her down and they walk to the car. It’s almost as if she isn’t leaving, as if there isn’t this momentous conversation and goodbye ahead of them. As if there isn’t the question of what happens next still to answer. 

As they drive away, he reaches out with his right hand and twines her fingers into his. She squeezes back. 

*

Josh has only been in Thalia’s bedroom a handful of times. Some member of her family is home more often than not, and her parents don’t seem too fond of him as an entity. 

Now, he doesn’t stop to look around. He lets her direct him onto her bed, lets her take the lead. She’s nervous, trembling in the shadowy room. The quilt spread across her bed is cool under his fingertips. He toes off his shoes and presses his bare feet into the hardwood floor, watching her. 

“I wanted this to be nice,” she says, walking towards him in bare feet. 

“It’s always good with you,” he murmurs, keeping his eyes on her face. 

Biting her bottom lip, she reaches up and undoes the twist of her hair, curls spilling over her shoulders. “I thought a bed would be good,” she says with a laugh. 

When she’s close enough, he reaches out and holds the curve of her hips, spreading his legs to pull her between his knees. The denim of his jeans rubs against his skin as she rests her hands on his shoulders.

“I’m going to miss you,” she says softly, her fingers sliding over his throat to cup his jaw. 

There’s a tightness in his chest he can’t define. They didn’t speak at all about her leaving at dinner. It was a quiet meal talking about school, their friends, how his dad and Allison won’t stop making eyes, Kate and Luke’s wedding – all the happy memories of a summer spent in stasis. 

In that moment, he nearly blurts it out - _I love you_. But she leans down and kisses him, steals the words from his tongue with hers. She kneels between his legs and his erection presses right against the zip of his jeans. He swallows hard as her mouth moves over his jaw, the taut line of his throat. Her hands move over his chest and trembling stomach muscles, pulling the hem of his shirt from its tuck in his jeans. 

Thalia is slow and methodical in her disrobing of him in a way that feels entirely like her. She is cautious and careful but thrumming with excitement, as if she wants to grab all of him at once because she is afraid he will disappear. This is lost in her efforts to be controlled and precise and reasoned. That is the face she presents to everyone else – but he can make her forget that measured response. 

When she pulls his jeans from his hips, his breath stutters. It still feels like a wet dream, to have her under his hands and to have her touch on his skin. She strokes his erection, kissing his throat, until his hands spasm and he pulls her onto the bed and into his arms. There are things he’s still too nervous to try – he wants his mouth on her clit so much, he presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth – and now, perhaps he’ll never have the chance. 

When he unzips her dress and the loose, sweat-damp fabric peels from her skin, she whimpers under him. His fingertips run along the red grooves along her ribs where her bra lay as he unhooks the soft white cotton. He takes his time with her, stroking her slowly between her thighs as his lips trace the generous curve of her breasts, the dip of her sternum. His chest pressed against the bell curve of her stomach and she squeaks, pressing her inner thighs against his ribs. 

“Josh – “ she breathes, slick under his fingertips. He slides two fingers inside her and she moans, flushed and loose-jointed under him. She digs back under her pillow with one wild hand and comes back to press a condom against his shoulder. He hums against her skin, moving his mouth along the freckles that dot her curves. Later, he will remember how she sounded and felt and what her skin was, the scent of the beach and lavender and sea grass. He makes her come with his mouth at her throat, his thumb circling her clit, and her hands clenched in his hair. 

When he does finally guide himself into her, practiced after months of fumbling and laughing between them, she presses her face into his neck. He feels hot damp warmth against his skin, the tremble of her chest against his. There is an answering hot fullness at the back of his eyes and he closes them, clutching at her hips and moving inside her, jerking hard when he comes. 

She cries against his neck, silent tears with hard gulping breaths. 

“Thalia,” he whispers when he can catch his breath, sliding carefully away. 

She doesn’t speak even as he ties off and disposes of the condom in the little trash can under her neat and tidy desk. Her tall full bookcases seem to glare at him with disapproval as he slips back into bed, as if they know he doesn’t belong in her world. They lay naked over her sheets, and she tucks herself into his chest when he puts an arm around her shoulders. 

“Thalia, please – “ he says softly into her hair. “We – we don’t have to – “

“Don’t say _long distance_ ,” she mutters into his chest, the sparse springy hair there. “It’s just – it’s just – “

_I love you_ sits on his tongue. He closes his eyes and tucks her closer to him, hating the tremble of her back under his hands. 

“I won’t ask you to wait,” she says at last, voice thick but under control. “It isn’t fair. And it isn’t like we – “

_It isn’t like we’re in love -_

“Don’t say it,” he says stiffly. He doesn’t want to hear her deny what they have. “I won’t – I won’t ask you to wait either.”

Sniffling, she sits up and gathers the pushed-down quilt in her hands, wrapping it around her freckled shoulders. In the darkness of her bedroom, she is just a flicker of light and bright wet eyes. “It feels like an unreasonable expectation, given our age and prospective plans,” she says quietly. 

“Yeah,” he says, sitting up. He is sick to his stomach. He is gutted. He shouldn’t be. 

They are quiet together, listening just to the sounds of the ocean in the distance, of the birds settling for the evening. He takes a deep breath and reaches for his clothes. Her parents will be home soon, and long goodbyes only end badly. 

“You wanna walk me to the car?” he asks as he dresses. He doesn’t want to have to beg, but his mind skips to the present under the front passenger seat. An opportunity didn’t present itself prior. He doesn’t want to come dogging her later, not after all this. 

She nods, and drags the quilt around her as she moves about the room for clothes. 

The walk through the empty house is silent. She holds his hand the entire time. He tries not to think about last times or endings. This was never permanent to begin with, he tells himself. The night breeze cools his skin. He’ll need to shower before bed. When they stop outside the car, he drops her hand to open the passenger door and reach in. 

“Josh – “

“It’s nothing,” he says, handing her the slim package clumsily wrapped in green paper. He could have asked Allison for help, but he wanted to do it himself. He regrets that as he watches her touch the unpolished corners and the awkward edges. “Just – I’ll miss you.”

Thalia’s bright open face crumples, her nose crinkling. He grabs her and pulls her into his chest, rocking them side to side as she sniffles against his wrinkled shirt. He wants desperately to tell her what he’s feeling, to pin her to the car and never let go. Instead, he strokes his hands over her hair and back and swallows down hot tears of his own. 

She’s still crying when she lifts her face to his and kisses him. The salt on her mouth will stay with him for days. 

*

Josh arrives home to find the house dark except for the porch light, and Fezzik and Matt sitting on the top porch step. Matt has a sweating bottle of beer in his hand, and another one open next to him. 

When Josh approaches, Fezzik thumps his tail and lifts his head in greeting. 

“It’s late. Aren’t you too old to be up like this?” Josh asks, scratching behind Fezzik’s ears as he plops down next to his dad. It’s as if every part of him, inside and out, has been rubbed over with sandpaper and salt. He feels even more as if he needs to escape this town and run, run until he can find a place where he hasn’t touched Thalia, or kissed her, or made her laugh. 

Matt grunts and hands Josh the full, cold beer next to him. 

Josh holds the bottle between his palms and stares at the porch steps, creamy in the yellow light from above. 

“You’re a good kid and a good man. You can have a beer with your dad,” Matt says after a moment, his voice gentle. It reminds Josh of when he would read Josh a bedtime story, or the time when Josh came back from visiting the mother who left him behind. 

Wetting his lips, Josh nods and takes a long swallow. “Allison’ll be pissed.”

“Allison gets it. And you’re old enough to make your own choices now,” Matt says, fixing his clear gaze on him. 

The hair on the back of Josh’s neck prickles upwards. “Dad –“

“You’ll tell me when you’re ready,” Matt says, raising his beer to Josh. 

Josh clinks the neck of his bottle against Matt’s, and drinks as he looks out across the yard. There’s a horrible ache in his chest, a sick feeling in his middle. The beer helps. 

He wonders if Thalia opened her gift. He picked the lined leather-bound journal out on the mainland. The letter he stuck inside – he wonders if he’ll ever know what she thinks of it. 

*

_Thalia –_

_You are meant for adventure. You are meant for big ideas. You are meant for a lot more than Dare Island and a guy you knew once there, who you fooled around with and made laugh a lot in the best ways._

_But I hope you don’t forget Dare Island, and the guy you knew once. He’s not going to forget you. And maybe he’s not going to go on big adventures or ever visit France or go to a fancy university. But he wants to see all of that through your eyes._

_I hope the journal is a place you can write to me, and for me, even if I never see it. I want to know everything you know, and experience it with you. It’s cheesy. But it’s all I have to offer._

_I would have taken you to Homecoming, and voted you Queen. I would have taken you to Prom, and brought you a corsage, and braved your parents as they took pictures with disapproval. I’m not going to take anyone else. I want you to know that._

_Write me about prom there, or whatever France does. If they do anything. And let me know if the pastries are better than Jane’s, because I’ll swim across the ocean for one._

_Bon Voyage._

_-Josh_

*

Josh doesn’t think much changes after Thalia leaves. He goes back to school, he does his homework, he helps out his dad and grandparents at the Fisherman’s Rest. Basketball starts in a month and he’s got practice after school some days. The informational packet on the Marines burns a hole under his bed, and his mouth goes dry every time he thinks about putting the words into air to his family. 

On Labor Day, a week into the school year, an email arrives from Thalia. He waits until the cover of night to read it, slipping downstairs with a drowsy Fezzik to sit on the porch with his new laptop (a present from his dad and Allison). The nights are still stuffy and warm, but the breeze is pleasant, smelling of salt and sunscreen. 

_Dear Josh –_

_I waited as long as I could to contact you. This is a lot harder than I thought, and I imagined that it would be pretty awful. So, this is pretty awful._

_France is beautiful. Camille’s home is lovely. My conversational French is okay, but needs work. School here will be weird, I think. It reminds me of what I think college might be like, the whole fish out of water/big fish dropped into the ocean with other big fish thing, so having this challenge is good ahead of time. I have to start working on those applications, to get them all set before November 1st. I can see you rolling your eyes in my head – I know, I’m an overachiever of the worst kind._

_My parents are coming over for Thanksgiving, and I think I’ll be home for Christmas. I don’t know what my summer plans are yet. I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. We told each other not to wait. I just really miss you._

_I don’t want to hurt you. But I thought – maybe we could email? Once in a while? I’m realizing that in leaving, I’ve also lost my best friend. You’re my best friend. Anyway, you can let me know. I want to hear about basketball and whether Allison is forcing you to apply for college and how Fezzik is handling JD and whether Taylor has a crush on anyone yet, and what’s going on with the boat, and your grandparents. And you. I want to hear about you._

_Bonne nuit –  
Thalia_

“I’m fucked,” Josh mutters, squinting against the laptop screen’s glow. Next to him on the porch stairs, Fezzik thumps his tail in agreement. 

_Thalia –_

_You’re going to be great in school – you always are. French or American or whatever. You’ve got this._

_Email me whenever. I’ll do the same I want to talk to you. I’ve missed you too. You never have to apologize for contacting me. I just wanted to give you time to adjust. I’m not much of a writer. But I’m glad you emailed._

_Fezzik says hi. Taylor says we’re both depressed and gloomy. Can’t imagine why._

_Talk to you soon –_

_Josh_

“Super, super fucked,” he mutters as he presses _Send_. He scratches Fezzik behind the ears and looks out into the dark light. He can hear the ocean against the beach, the beach grass soft in the breeze. Taking a deep breath, he closes the laptop and shuts his eyes. He thinks he can smell Thalia’s perfume on the breeze. 

*

The emails start out once weekly, but blossom to twice and sometimes three times a week, equal exchanges on either side of the Atlantic. Thalia writes about her struggles speaking wholly in French seventy-five percent of the day, of how the European perspective shifts the nature of how she sees history, and the world. Of how terrifying American politics and machinations seem to those abroad. Of the cakes and pastries and going to Paris and walking around Versailles. In the spring, she will take a trip to the lavender fields in the south of France. 

She never mentions her college applications, except to say they were submitted. 

In return, he tells her island gossip – Jack and Lauren are getting married and she’s the new school counselor; he thinks Dad and Allison might be trying for a baby, which is simultaneously gross and kind of cool; Taylor is making friends and doing really well, taking care of JD. He tells her about how the basketball team is terrible this year but he’s still having fun, and how he’s actually enjoying his AP English class – the one she told him to sign up for. He fills his emails with details of his family’s hijinks and different baked goods Jane keeps trying out. He tells her every time he sees her family out and about, and that they look well. 

He doesn’t say a word about the Marines. 

The autumn turns crisper, harder. At the beginning of December, the first snowflakes drift down from the full grey clouds, sitting on Fezzik’s nose. On a trip to the mainland, he buys a necklace to match her earrings. In her last email before coming home for the holiday, Thalia gives him her flight information. 

_I don’t expect you to drop everything or miss work or anything – but, you know. Just in case,_ she writes. _My parents can come get me. You’re probably working. Don’t cancel work!_

_I’ll be there,_ is all he writes back. 

He borrows his dad’s truck and makes the few hours’ drive to the airport wearing a clean button-down shirt and jeans, the heater on low in the truck cab. His palms sweat against the plastic of the steering wheel, his knee jiggling. Just emails for almost four months hasn’t been enough. With the time difference and her schedule and his, to ask for more – for phone calls, for Skype – seemed too much. They _weren’t_ together. They were staying in touch as friends. He’s picking her up as a friend. 

He’s such a fucking liar. 

He parks in the thirty minute lot, just as her flight lands. He checks the arrival screens and walks through the bustling airport towards her baggage claim carrel, hands stuffed in his jeans pockets. His leather jacket feels too hot around his collar. He wishes he’d gotten a haircut. The Saturday before Christmas, the airport is a madhouse, and he’s half afraid he won’t find her, given that she doesn’t have a working cell phone right now, and won’t until she’s back on WiFi. 

Slowly, people laden with carry-ons filter through the hall to the baggage claim area. Josh leans against an edge of wall near some benches and narrows his eyes, searching for those familiar freckled face and curls. 

When she appears, she looks – the same. A little tired, but he’ll blame that on the plane rides. With her auburn curls pinned back from her face and her freckles faint on her pale cheeks, she looks just as he’s imagined her for months. He pushes away from the wall and takes about five steps forward before she spots him. Her eyes widen and her bottom lip trembles. Suddenly he feels much older than eighteen and he wants her in his arms. 

Dragging her shoulder bag and her carry-on at her sides, she walks towards him. He meets her more than halfway and stops, abruptly awkward. 

“Hey,” he says at last, voice rough. He clears his throat and reaches out to grab her shoulder bag. “Let me – “

Suddenly her arms are around his waist. She buries her face in his chest and he can feel the tremble of her body against his. Her carry-on falls to the ground and he clutches at her shoulder bag, knowing her laptop is in there, as he wraps his arms around her in kind. Her hair tickles his nose and he swallows hard, rocking slightly back and forth as she sniffles into his jacket. 

“The French are rubbing off on you,” he murmurs. “Cryin’ like this in public.”

“You’re the worst,” she retorts thickly. “I missed you so much.”

Carefully setting down her shoulder bag at their feet, he cups her face in his hands and tilts her head back to meet his eyes. This gut punch, this wrench in his chest, is why he knows he’s totally fucked. Why he didn’t go to the Homecoming Dance, why thinking about kissing any other girl makes him feel a little sick to his stomach, why Taylor’s said he’s been a downer all fall. He’s got plans and a life that will eventually separate from Thalia’s, he knows this. But it’s all he can do not to drop to his knees and propose now. 

Except, he knows how those kinds of marriages go. Especially for guys like him and women like Thalia. 

“Welcome back,” he says quietly. 

Dark eyes blinking back tears, Thalia digs her fingers into his sides and pops up on her toes. The kiss is brief but electric. He wets his lips, tasting vanilla from her lip balm, as he watches her. 

“I’m – I’m sorry,” she says, taking a step back out of his arms. Crowds ebb and flow around them. “I shouldn’t – “

He puts a hand to the side of her throat, his fingers sliding under the loosening mass of her hair, and pulls her back in for a kiss. This time, their eyes close and it’s as natural as breathing to part his lips, to trace the trembling line of her mouth with his tongue, to taste her. Her body relaxes into his and she clutches at the open sides of his jacket, kissing him back with a low sound. 

Inhaling sharply, he pulls back, fingers gentle on the nape of her neck. “Don’t ever say sorry for that, babe,” he says with a crooked smile. 

She laughs shortly, the nerves seeming to fade from her gaze. “Yeah. Okay.”

He drops his hand away from her slowly. The feel of her skin is a memory and a reality at once. “You check a bag?”

Nodding, she passes a hand over her face and hair. “Yeah. I’ll grab it?”

“I’ll be here,” he says. 

The walk to the parking lot is quiet. He carries her shoulder bag and her suitcase, as she holds onto her carry-on. It all fits in the back cab of the truck, and he secures it as she hops into the passenger side with ease and familiarity. It could be last winter, if not for the fact that they aren’t together, she lives in another country, and he’s joining the Marines in nine months. 

Josh inhales the cold December air, and settles in the driver’s seat. 

“So, how’s France?” he asks lightly, reaching over to put the keys in the ignition. 

“ _Josh._ ”

He pushes out a deep exhale and starts the engine. Heat begins to push through the vents after a few moments, and by the time they’re back on the highway, his heart rate is back to normal. Thalia’s perfume in his every breath. He’s got one hand on the steering wheel and the other on his thigh, tapping along to the radio playing softly. 

“Y’all aren’t going away for the holiday, are you?” he asks, breaking the comfortable silence. 

“No,” she says, her voice thin. “We’re here. I’m here until the second.”

Ten days. Josh’s throat tightens up. “Can I take you out to dinner while you’re here?”

“Yes, I’d like that.” 

He glances at her out of the corner of his eyes. She’s got her hands flat on her denim-covered thighs, looking out the passenger side window. Some of her curls have escaped the mass and fall along her neck. 

“Can I pick you up and take you necking on the beach?” he asks, reaching over and taking her hand in his free one. 

Her fingers twitch and twine into his. When he looks at her briefly, she’s got a small smile playing on “Yes.”

He’s immediately half-hard, remembering the feel of her under him and over him. “We’re doing a bad job of not being together, huh,” he says lightly. 

Around his fingers, her grip tightens. “Really bad,” she replies, voice cracking on a laugh. 

It’s all he can do not to pull off at the next exit, shove his seat back in a deserted parking lot, and pull her on top of him. He isn’t sure she would stop him if he did. 

*

Matt asks him, on Christmas Eve after Mass, whether he knows what’s he’s doing. 

Josh honestly can’t answer. But the day after Christmas, with the town in a snowy holiday daze, he borrows the truck with its snow chains, picks up Thalia from her parents’ home (will her parents ever look at him like he’s something other than the town hick set on ruining their daughter? Or is it all in his head?), and takes her an hour onto the mainland for dinner. She’s beautiful in a cozy black sweater dress, the earrings he gave her last Christmas sparkling against her hair. It’s a reminder of the necklace sitting in the glove compartment, that he’s suddenly nervous to give her. 

After a dinner in which they are totally normal and in their usual rhythm, distance and time apart be damned, he drives them back towards the island. His uncle is on call tonight, so Josh feels confident in driving to one of the beaches and parking in a deserted lot twenty minutes from home. He shuts off the engine, the cab warm from blasting the heater the whole way. He wants a bed, or even somewhere indoors, but with parents everywhere and school out, there’s nowhere but here. 

“I miss this view,” she says after a quiet moment, curling her hands into themselves.

“Me too,” he says without thinking, his gaze fixed on her profile, the soft curls of her hair. 

She glances at him and flushes. He can see the heat touch her cheeks in the dim streetlights. Around them is the faint sound of waves against the shore, the cold winter breeze off the ocean. 

They watch each other for a long moment before she unbuckles her seat belt and hitches herself over the gear shift. When they kiss, his hands grappling to shove his seat back as her soft fingers touch the line of his jaw and the stretch of his throat, he tastes something desperate and needy on her lips. He finally lays hands on her waist, her dress smooth under his callused touch, and she rolls her hips against his as she straddles his lap. 

“Babe – “

“Josh, please,” she whispers against his mouth. Her gaze shimmers in the dim light. He can hardly hear the ocean for the roar in his ears, the desire hot and fast through his nerve endings. 

When has he ever been able to resist her?

He kisses her quiet and smooths his hands over her curves, drawing her dress up over her thighs. She whimpers into his mouth as he skims his fingernails over the smooth texture of her tights, kissing her jaw and exposed neck. His fingers draw loops on her inner thighs, closer and closer to her core. She slides her hands into his hair and hums, arching into his touch. 

When he slips his hand into her tights and touches her wet folds, she cries out softly, her cheek pressed against his. To him, it could be this past summer, or a year ago; bringing her to orgasm in his truck, his fingers pressing and sliding inside of her as she pants his name. He makes her come as he bites at her neck softly, his thumb circling her clit and his wrist aching from the awkward angle. She tightens her grip as her hands fall to his shoulders, shuddering against him. 

Hard as a rock, he shifts under her, still stroking her as she shimmers from the afterglow. He doesn’t want to press his luck. 

“Josh,” she whispers, kissing his cheek. Her hands crawl down his chest to his belt buckle. 

“We don’t have to – “

She shuts him up with a brief kiss. Together they shimmy their hips and tangle together, freeing one leg from her tights and pulling her underwear down. When she rolls the condom onto his erection he presses his head back into the seat, swearing under his breath. A breathless laugh escapes her lips as she guides him into her, the inside of her knees rubbing his hipbones. 

He comes unfortunately fast, but she kisses him through it as his hands cup her breasts. She strokes his sides, his chest, his shoulders as he twitches and gasps, pleasure short-circuiting his thoughts. All he can imagine is a life with her, a house on the mainland with books and a dog and a yard and space to breathe. 

It’s a fantasy, and he knows it. Being young is folly. 

“I don’t know how to stop wanting this,” she says later. They’ve pulled themselves back together and now sit curled up in the backseat of the truck, shivering as the heat in the cab dissipates. She presses her face into his shoulder and he tightens the curve of his arm around her waist. 

“You – you don’t have to,” he says after a moment. 

Her hand flexes on his belly. “In a week, I’m gone again. I may not come back until right before college. It wouldn’t be fair – “

“I would wait,” he says softly. 

Her body tenses and he immediately wishes the words back. 

“We decided not to do that,” she says unsteadily. Her breathing picks up, the exhales hot against his throat. 

He looks down at the crown of her head, the curls loose over her shoulders. His gut clenches. “I know.”

She strokes over his chest, warming the fabric of his button-down. “It would be too hard, I thought.”

_Harder than this?_ he thinks, but says nothing. 

Sighing, she sits up and brushes the hair from her face. Her gaze gleams in her pale face. “I should get home,” she murmurs, leaning into kiss him once more.

When he drops her off at her parents’ home, the ill feeling in his middle remains. The necklace, forgotten, lingers in his glove compartment. He’s sure he’ll have another chance to give it to her. 

*

Josh texts Thalia on New Year’s Eve, to see if she wants to come to Matt and Allison’s party. He hasn’t heard from her in three days, since their dinner date. She begs off, telling him she and her family have plans. He tries not to think anything of it. 

He texts the next day: _Happy New Year, babe_

She responds: _You too!_

A knot forms in his middle. 

When he asks if he will get a chance to see her before she goes back to France, she doesn’t respond. 

And then, at ten in the morning on the second of January, he gets an email. 

_Josh –_

_I’m a coward to do this in writing. But I couldn’t say goodbye again in person. It was so hard this summer._

_I think it would be best if we limit our contact, for now. These feelings – they’re too hard to ignore. I thought I could write to you, I thought I could be casual about what this was, but I don’t think I can. I don’t think you can either._

_We decided to not wait for one another. We know our futures lay on different paths. We should take this remaining time to focus on our individual goals, and to think of ourselves separate from each other. Otherwise, we may fall into this same pattern over and over and never be able to move on._

_Please know that I will always consider you a friend, and care for you very much. I just think it’s better this way. I hope that distance and time will make this easier for both of us. I hope only the best for you._

_-Thalia_

Josh stares at his laptop screen, re-reading the email three times before he swears under his breath and shoves away from his desk. 

He writes nothing back. He takes the necklace from his truck and shoves it in a back drawer of his desk. 

He should have known, really.

*

The last semester of senior year is uncomfortably numb. 

Josh has a mental countdown until graduation, until he will have the diploma in his hands that is his ticket out of Dare Island and away from the memories he’s created here. He archives his email exchanges with Thalia, away from his main inbox. He can’t bring himself to delete them. He keeps his grades up and begins strength training after school, between helping at the inn and watching Taylor. He still hasn’t said a word out loud in seriousness to his family about his plans. With Aunt Meg’s wedding and Luke and Kate looking for a house and Matt and Allison tiptoeing around planning for a baby, he doesn’t want to add more to his family’s mental load. 

It’s Gabe, the old Marine friend of Uncle Luke’s, who says it first. Sitting on the front steps of the inn, after a day of getting it back into high tourism season shape, he and Gabe and Luke and his dad drink down their cold glasses of water, staring out into the spring sea skies. Fezzik naps on the porch proper; Josh can hear JD rustling through the house, and Kate calling after him. Sam Grady is due over for Sunday dinner, as usual. 

“You working out for something special, Josh?” Gabe asks, after a spell of comfortable silence. He’s a good guy, settled, who notices enough. 

The hairs rise on the back of Josh’s neck. “Uh- “

“You may as well just say it, kid,” his dad says, voice low. 

Josh blinks, glancing at his dad, and then his uncle. Luke fixes him with a clear stare. 

“We know you’re not going to college,” Matt continues, no judgement or grievance in his voice. “And you’re not the kind to loaf around here. So, which branch?”

The breeze shivers between them, the stairs creaking under their muscled weight. Josh sets down his water glass and rests his elbows on his knees. He looks out towards the ocean, a hard knot in his stomach. 

“Marines,” he says at last. There is no tremor to his voice. “I’ve got all the paperwork ready. Once graduation happens, I’ll be set. Thought I’d try to stay the summer, to help out here. Enlist and head out in September.”

Thalia wouldn’t be back for the summer, he assumed. It would be safe enough. The cherry pit of haunted memory in his gut wasn’t going anywhere, no matter how far away he goes. 

Matt scrubs a hand over his wind-worn face, eyes crinkling. He looks at Josh appraisingly. “All right,” he says quietly. 

“It’s not romantic,” Luke says firmly. “And it isn’t something to do just because you’re running away.”

Gabe grins sharply, shooting a look at Luke. “Yeah?”

Luke rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“I’m not running away,” Josh says firmly. “I’ve been thinking about this for a few years. I’ve done my research and given it serious thought.”

The four of them drop back into silence. Josh rubs a hand through his hair and huffs out a breath. “Someone’s gotta keep up the tradition, right?” he jokes at last. 

All three of the older men smile briefly. “Sure,” Luke says, slapping a hand on Josh’s shoulder. 

“Be prepared for tears,” Gabe says, jerking his head towards the house. 

“Especially with your aunt all hormonal,” Luke adds with a smirk. 

“Let him be,” Matt says, his mouth still a worried line. 

Josh shrugs and gets to his feet. He doesn’t know what else to say, whether it’s a disappointment or not. But it doesn’t seem to be a surprise. 

When he tells the others, his grandparents take it in stride, though Tess’s eyes shimmer. Allison takes her cue from Matt, steady and even, just as she always is. Kate hugs him, though her eyes stay on Taylor, whose mouth trembles with tears. Aunt Meg is all waterworks, blaming it all very loudly on the pregnancy. It’s about what he expected. It’s a relief to have it out in the open, to have it solidified. The emotions he can handle, the planning can begin in earnest. 

His life moves on. 

*

Except – except once.

In mid-July, almost a year to the day Thalia told him about France, Josh walks up from the shore to his grandparents’ inn. The sunset ahead of him, he blinks salt-tired eyes and heads for his truck. He spent the day on the water with a family of five, the mom with hair as wild as Thalia’s, and his body aches. He wants to go home and sleep for ten hours straight. The parking around the inn is full, and he heads out back to his truck. 

When he sees Thalia in the flesh, leaning against the passenger side of the truck, he stops dead in his tracks. 

She looks up at him. Her face is drawn, lines bracketing her mouth. Arms crossed over her chest, she looks as if she might cry or scream. Her hair is pulled back tightly from her face, giving her a pinched, severe look. He wants to pull out the hairband and run his fingers through her curls. 

“I didn’t know you were back,” he says at last, voice even. All he wants to do is grab her up and kiss her until they both can’t breathe. Seeing her in the flesh brings back the memory of their last goodbye, of the anger and resentment knotted in his chest. Will he ever be good enough? 

She swallows hard enough for him to see it in the line of her throat. “Why did you do it?” she asks, voice rough. 

He blinks, startled. “Do what?” He hasn’t gone on a date, gone to a dance, gone to a party since she left in January. Graduation was a family affair. All he does is work, exercise, and try to sleep. 

“Enlist,” she fires back, voice hoarse. “You enlisted?”

The muscles in his jaw tighten. “Is that your business?” he asks coolly. 

Closing her eyes briefly, she then lifts her chin to fix her gaze on his face. Her eyes glitter in the dying light. “I thought – As your friend – “

“My _friend_?” he repeats. His hands clench into fists at his sides. 

“Yes,” she shouts, pushing off the side of his truck and advancing towards him. “We have always been friends and as your friend – “

“A _friend_ wouldn’t have come home, slept with me, and then told me she couldn’t ever speak to me again in a fucking email!” he shouts back, losing his grip on the frustration coiled in his belly. It’s sat there since January, seething, and now it floods his mouth with bitterness. He has spent months pretending he didn’t care; with her in front of him, the restraint breaks. 

Thalia squares her shoulders and presses a hand into his chest, right over his heart. “Please don’t do this, Josh,” she says, voice cracking. “Everything is dangerous – you could end up in Korea – you could _die_ , and – “ 

She cuts herself off, curling her fingers against his t-shirt. He can feel the heat of her skin through the cotton. When she inhales, he can’t help but match her rhythm, the rise of her chest. “There are other options, there are so many things you can do – “

“You don’t get an opinion on my future any longer,” he says flatly. His squared-off nails dig into the meat of his palms. If he touches her, he won’t let her go. 

Flinching, she looks him directly in the eye. “I guess I deserve that,” she says faintly, dropping her hand from his chest. “Just – “

She trails off, staring at him. Her mouth trembles. 

All his anger drops away and he’s just tired. If he can’t hold her, or love her, what good is he to her? All he can do is protect her, however he can. “Go home, Thalia,” he says quietly. 

Pressing her lips together, she turns and begins to walk away, towards the front of the inn. He watches her go for a moment before he moves to his truck and braces himself against the frame with his forearms, inhaling sharply. 

“Josh, please be careful,” he hears her say, her voice watery with tears. “Please –“

A beat of silence, and then he hears her sneakered feet on the gravel again, fading away. He shuts his eyes, a lump hard in his throat. 

“Enjoy Harvard,” he mutters to no one. His bitter words are for the sunset alone. 

*

It’s strange to Josh that their argument in a parking lot should be the last time he see Thalia in person for ten years.

It’s stranger to know that there are hundreds of letters in storage addressed to her that he’s never sent. 

The strangest is that those letters have formed the basis of a book. 

Josh’s time in the Marines is productive, fulfilling, if nerve-racking. He travels the world in a way he never would have expected when living at the inn with his dad and grandparents. Deployed to Kuwait, to Afghanistan, to France, to the United Kingdom, when he lay awake sleepless in his accommodations, he would write. Emails to his family, of course; but putting pen to paper, he would see Thalia’s freckles, the riot of her curls, the smoothness of her skin against his. And to her, to the woman he once knew and the woman he thinks of often enough, he writes. 

He never sends the letters, but there is a comfort to writing them. He posts excerpts (with identifying names changed, of course) to an anonymous blog, which gets traction among websites such as _Buzzfeed_ and, eventually, _The New Yorker_. With thousands of words detailing life deployed, he doesn’t find them any more interesting than anyone else’s experience; but others seem to.

Coming home to Dare Island for a vacation at the ten year mark of his career, in the dead heat of August, he has a trip to New York planned, to finalize the book contract. His aunt Meg, as his PR rep (not that he needs one – who is he going to talk to?) will come. But he plans on otherwise laying low, spending time with Taylor and his half-sister Amelia, rising seven years old. Allison is pregnant again, due in February, and the house he still has a room in is full of laughter and life in a way he finds comforting. 

What he doesn’t expect is a ten-year high school reunion.

*

“No way.”

Taylor laughs. “You’ve got to go. Everyone knows you’re in town. It’ll look totally weird if you don’t.”

“Don’t you have homework to do?” Josh says, throwing a pen at his cousin. 

She grins and tosses her hair over her shoulders. “Semester doesn’t start for three more weeks, jerk.”

From the other side of the living room, Allison clears her throat. “You might like catching up with everyone,” she offers, cheeks flushed prettily. She fans herself, a hand resting on the small curve of her belly. 

Josh bites back a sigh, tossing a book onto the coffee table. If Matt were here, he would feel less outnumbered, but Matt is with Amelia at a swimming lesson. Pirate, the golden lab mutt Matt and Allison adopted after Fezzik passed away a few years back, stretches out on the hardwood floor, napping. “Catching up, huh?” he mutters.

Laughing again, Taylor tucks her long legs under her as she perches on the couch. He can still see remnants of the skinny girl brought to his grandparents’ home all those years ago, but she’s all strength and light and power now. She wants to be a lawyer, like Kate; she’s at UNC-Chapel Hill entering her final year of classes. He couldn’t be more proud of her. 

“Yeah,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows. “Who knows who might show up?”

There is a small ache in his chest that bears Thalia’s name. It makes itself known as he rolls his eyes at Taylor. There have been other women – but he writes to _her_. There has been no one else. 

“Besides, it’ll give you a chance to brag about me,” Taylor adds. 

He reaches over and ruffles her blonde hair, and she shrieks, slapping away his hands. Allison laughs at them fondly, and for a moment, sitting in a house his father and Allison made their own, Josh can laugh too. 

Later, in the bedroom always reserved for him, with mementos of his childhood surrounding him, he rolls onto his stomach and tries not to think of wild curls and a sharp wit. Staring at the desk he hasn’t used in years, he sits up and rubs a hand over his short-shorn hair. Curiosity overwhelms him. He rises, moving to the desk, and pulls open the top drawer. 

The necklace box is still there. 

Josh stares at it for a moment, and then shuts the drawer with a soft thud. 

*

Friday night is sticky and warm, stars bright in an inky sky. Matt drops Josh off at the Fish House for the reunion, which makes Josh feel about twelve years old. 

“I’m not going to get wasted, Dad,” he mutters as Matt pulls up to the Fish House and puts the truck in park. 

“Just in case,” Matt says, steady and firm as he always is. 

Josh looks at his dad for a moment in the lamplight of the parking lot. There is more grey in his dark hair, more lines that crinkle at the corners of his eyes. How much has he missed, being away? Amelia, his own sister, is shy around him, Taylor an adult, Meg’s twins nearly ten and vaguely know him as Uncle Josh – is this how Uncle Luke felt, coming and going from home to base to front to home again?

“Thanks, Dad,” he says after a moment. 

Matt smiles slightly. “For what, kid?”

Uncomfortable, Josh shrugs. “For everything, I guess.”

Matt reaches over and squeezes Josh’s shoulder briefly. “Go have some fun.”

The Fish House – renovated and enlarged since Josh has last been here – has a back room and bar reserved for the reunion. Josh hears murmurs as he passes through the restaurant; he waves to Hannah, Taylor’s friend, who works as a server during the summer, and nods to friends of the family sitting at the bar. The back room hums with music from ten years ago. He hovers in the doorway, hands shoved in his jeans pockets, peering at the crowd. About 30 people so far – a nice turn-out for a tiny island school. 

He doesn’t see _her_. He isn’t sure how he feels about it. 

Tyler, an old basketball teammate, sees him from the bar and hollers his name. Josh sighs and steps inside. 

He spends the first hour bouncing from person to person. They all know about his writing, which makes him deeply uncomfortable. They ask about that, they ask about war; they don’t ask about anything like marriage or kids. It’s fine. It’s all fine. 

An hour and a half and three beers in, he hears her. 

Sitting at the bar, observing his high school friends get incredibly drunk in ways perhaps they can’t at home, with kids and responsibilities, he sits up straight as he hears Thalia’s husky laugh. His fingers flinch against the damp pint glass. He skims an eagle eye around the room, more full now that the nine-o-clock hour hit, and sees the wild curls before he sees her smile. 

Does she look different? He can’t really tell from his seat at the bar. All he can hear is his heartbeat in his ears. All he can feel is the slick condensation of his glass and the twitch of his muscles in his thighs. His mouth goes dry. She still knocks him for a loop, after ten whole years. 

She looks towards the bar and sees him. Even from here, he can see her face blanch, freckles stark against her skin. The room feels ten degrees warmer. 

He knows he should get up. Say hello. Be polite. But hurt lingers. He can write out all his feelings to her, use the idea of her as a vessel to communicate his own fears and hopes in the midst of a desert camp or a snowy barracks, but it doesn’t erase the formal email she wrote, severing their connection for good. It doesn’t change the ownership she felt, to come to his home months later to beg him to make a different choice. 

He finishes his beer, still watching her. 

And then, she moves towards him. 

Somehow, he wasn’t prepared for the possibility of her coming to him. But Thalia is always a surprise. 

He stands up from the barstool just as she comes within three feet of him. Thalia halts abruptly, hands pleated in front of her. 

“Are you going?” she blurts out, eyes wide. Her red curls are pulled back in a low knot, but some escape to frame the heart of her face. She’s wearing the earrings he gave her so long ago. His gut clenches.

Raising his eyebrows, he looks her up and down. “You get up when a lady comes to you. So, I’m up,” he says, voice low. 

Her mouth trembles, an echo of picking her up at the airport all those years ago. “Josh.”

He can’t do this here. Swallowing, Josh turns to the bartender and signals. “If we’re going to talk about _things_ , we need to go somewhere else.”

“What if I just want to talk about stuff?” she retorts. 

Glancing at her, he smiles slightly. “Then let’s sit.”

She perches on the barstool next to him and when the bartender circles back, she orders a pinot grigio. He orders another lager. 

“So,” he says. “Stuff, huh?”

Thalia smooths her hands over the skirt of her sundress, a floaty ocean blue he wants to sink into. “Stuff, not things.”

“Where are you living now?” he asks. Seems safe enough. 

The bartender brings their drinks. She takes a long swallow before answering. “Outside Boston.”

“Cold,” he says. 

“Not right now,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “Humid as hell.”

“What’s there?” 

She takes another long swallow. “I teach at Wellesley College. Small liberal arts school.”

He smiles slightly. “Makes sense. You a doctor?”

“I can’t operate on you, no.”

“The other kind?”

She hesitates just for a moment. “Yes. I went right in from undergrad.”

He’s certain that’s impressive. “Will I understand the subject area?” he asks, only slightly self-deprecating. 

Thalia narrows her eyes. “Don’t say shit like that. You can’t play dumb with me, Josh Fletcher.”

The sound of his name coming from her mouth sends a jolt of desire through him. He takes a long swallow of his lager, watching her face. A pink flush suffuses her cheeks, hiding her lighter freckles. 

“So? What’s it in?” he asks at last. He can’t look away from her. 

“Masters in History, Ph.D. in Women’s Gender, and Sexuality Studies,” she says, drawing her fingertips along the stem of her wine glass. 

Again, her voice sends a thrill through him. He could listen to her talk all night long, all day long. He could listen to her forever, still. “Can I call you ‘doctor’?” he asks lightly. 

She bites her bottom lip. He wants to kiss her so badly, right then and there. “Maybe not right now.”

“You let me know when, babe,” he murmurs. It’s reflexive, to tease her so. 

She stiffens in her seat and he shuts his eyes for a moment. All contrived ease slides away. He pictures her tearful and flushed in the parking lot, begging him not to enlist; crying as they say goodbye outside her home eleven summers ago; necking in his truck and laughing through their kisses. 

Regret lances him right through the chest. He opens his eyes and finds her watching him, her face still. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” she says at last. 

He looks into his half-full pint glass, the muscles in his jaw twitching. “I’m on leave for a few months. Just finished my second enlistment.”

Her mouth forms a silent _oh_ and she sips her wine. They’ve moved into _things_ territory. 

With his eyes, he traces the line of her throat and the rise of her collarbones, the scoop neckline of her dress, the glimmer of her earrings. When he looks up again, she watches him intently. 

“I want to talk to you,” he says finally, angling his upper body towards her. 

He watches the sharp rise and fall of her chest. “We are talking,” she says, leaning into him slightly. 

“About… things.” 

Thalia bites her bottom lip. “We shouldn’t do that here.”

“Probably not.”

She finishes her wine, watching him carefully. Silence stretches out between them. He swallows deeply from his beer, fingers curled tightly around the slippery pint glass. 

“I drove,” she says at last, breaking the moment’s spell. 

“You and me in cars have a track record.”

She flushes but keeps his gaze. “Josh.”

He sets down his empty pint glass and signals for the bartender. “Ok.”

He pays for her drink as well as his beers. He stands and helps her from the barstool, his hand resting against her bare arm. Goosebumps rise under his touch and he smiles slightly. The sight of her is still a punch to the gut for him; he’s glad to know he has some sort of effect on her, too. She moves ahead of him in the crowd, old classmates filling into take their places at the bar. He keeps a hand light on the small of her back, drunk on touching her. 

Outside the Fish House, she stops and turns to him, illuminated in a pool of golden lamplight. He can still hear the rustle and murmur of the restaurant behind them. 

“Josh –“

“Why did you do it?” he asks, all in a rush. 

Thalia doesn’t speak, doesn’t move. She stares at him, face pale but for the freckles he knows by heart. There are new ones across her nose. He wants to find them all again, over the canvas of her skin. 

“I – I thought it would be easier,” she says at last, voice catching. 

Dormant anger rises through his chest, hot and furious. “I didn’t understand that ten years ago and I sure as hell don’t now. Easier for who?”

Clenching her hands into fists, she jerks her head towards a navy-blue compact car, across the parking lot. “Not out here.”

They walk together across the seashell-strewn gravel lot in silence. Words press and bubble in his throat, at his lips, but he grits his teeth. Sliding into the passenger seat and shutting the door feels like falling back in time. He stares ahead at the dark shore as she slides into the driver’s side door and shuts it. 

“Easier for who?” he repeats after a moment. He can’t look at her. 

Her swallow is audible. The air is thick with tension and want. It’s all he can do not to reach out and pull her into his arms to devour her. 

“For me, mostly,” she says huskily. 

Startled, he looks at her. Her eyes are damp and she has her fingers knotted in her lap. But she keeps her gaze on him. 

“It was so hard to leave you, that summer. I cried myself to sleep for nights, missing you. And it was terrifying. We were supposed to be… fun. Light. I didn’t think – “

“Fun? _Light_?” he repeats harshly.

“Josh, _please_ , I’m trying – this is what I thought. We never – we never defined anything and we both – I thought we both wanted it that way. And then – then I _left_ and it was just –“ 

Thalia pauses, closing her eyes. Her knuckles are bone-white under the taut skin, pressing into her thighs. 

He reaches over and takes her hands in his, prying her fingers loose. It feels good to have her in his grasp. Her skin is warm and slightly damp. He can smell her perfume in the air between them, jasmine and citrus and sea salt. 

She looks at him again. “I thought I loved you, before I left for France. When I left, I knew I did. And I – “

“You freaked out,” he says quietly, rubbing his thumbs across the tops of her hands. 

“No,” she says, curling her fingers against his palms. “Well – yes – but because I didn’t – “

“You didn’t want me to hold you back.”

“Stop interrupting me!” she exclaims, voice growing thicker with tears. 

He watches her silently, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Reasons he thinks he knows circle in his mind. 

Thalia takes a slow breath, her fingers trembling in his gentle grasp. “I didn’t want us to make life-altering decisions based on love that might not be permanent. We were young and I knew your dad’s story and my parents were _always_ telling me I shouldn’t throw everything away for a high-school boyfriend. I couldn’t explain to them how different it felt, how much I – “

Halting abruptly, she bows her head for a moment. She looks defeated and guilt-ridden, shoulders curling in on themselves as she takes deep, slow breaths. He doesn’t let go of her hands. 

“I didn’t know what to do. When I came back for the holidays, you were _there_ and it felt so wonderful, and then I felt guilty because I didn’t want to go back. I wanted to stay here and finish senior year here and just have those months with you before – before whatever we decided to do,” she says quietly, raising her face to his once more. “But I made a commitment to Camille’s family. I thought it would be easier to not talk to you at all. To make a clean break.”

Josh squeezes her hands in his, chest tight. “You could have talked to me.”

She snorts. “Josh, I _loved_ you, how could I tell you that when we hadn’t even – we weren’t even really dating? What did you think your reaction would be? You think very highly of yourself at eighteen.”

He recoils slightly, but doesn’t drop her hands. “When I was around you, yeah. I did,” he says, stung. 

Shutting her eyes for a moment, she shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just – the understanding we had was that it’s just hooking up, spending some time – love wasn’t a part of it. And I didn’t – I didn’t want to say it and not hear it back. Or hear something else. Something that would be too hard to leave behind,” she says huskily. 

He doesn’t reply, too focused on the thoughts swirling around in his head. His stomach is tied up in knots. She _loved_ him, then. Is it still past tense?

“I am sorry I did it over email. I just – I knew I wouldn’t do it in person. I was a coward. I just – I couldn’t stand it. And then I heard about the enlistment – “

Thalia trails off, tears thick in every breath. She sniffles, turning her face away to collect herself. Josh looks down at their joined hands, breathing long and slow. 

“I’m sorry,” she says at last. “I’m sorry for it all.”

One hand still clasping hers, he reaches up with his free hand and touches the rise of her cheek, thumbing the damp skin under her eye. “I fucked up, too. I didn’t – I didn’t have to just let that be it. I could have told you that I loved you too, because I did.”

Her whole body jolts, he can feel it through her hands and the smooth skin of her cheek. He presses onward. “I could have listened to you when you showed up at the inn after graduation.” Every word feels too vulnerable; she could crush him in her hands. He swallows hard and clears his throat. “I was so mad – I couldn’t think straight.”

She reaches up with a hand to cover his against her cheek. “We were both dumb teenagers.”

“No, I – “ 

He stops, watching her carefully. She is just how he pictured her for years, wild hair and clear eyes and round cheeks. He wants to wrap her up in his arms and pull her into the backseat of her tiny car and show her that nothing has changed between them. 

But things _have_ changed. 

“I wanted to tell you how I felt, so many times. But I didn’t want to – I don’t know. I didn’t want to put you in a tough spot,” he says slowly. “I still don’t.”

She tilts her head into his touch. “If I felt like I would be, I wouldn’t be here.”

He inhales sharply. God, there’s nowhere on this fucking island to _go_.

“How long are you here?” he asks after a moment. 

“Until Tuesday. I have to go back to prep for the new school year,” she said quietly. 

He drops his hand from her face, retaking her hands in his as they rest on her thighs. “Let me take you to dinner.”

Her lips quirk into a smile. “The Fish House?”

“The mainland,” he says. “Tomorrow night. Are you at your parents’ house still?”

She nods, eyes wide. 

“I’ll pick you up,” he says definitively. “We can talk more. Catch up. Not be surrounded by people who know us.” He’s not letting this opportunity go to waste, not when she’s so close. 

Smiling slightly, she squeezes his hands. “Yeah, ok. Sounds good.”

They sit in tentative peace for a moment, watching each other. He smiles at her and her lips curve. 

“You drive?” she asks after a moment. 

“Dad dropped me off. You know, in case I got totally wrecked, or ran into you,” he says lightly. 

She laughs. “Want me to take you home?”

He jerks his head back towards The Fish House. “You don’t want to go back in?”

Slowly, she shakes her head _no._ “You’re the only person I wanted to see,” she says quietly. 

_Fuck_. 

Leaning over, he presses his mouth to hers. She gasps and leans right in, her lips parting under his. Her hands fall away from his and her arms wrap around his waist and back. He closes his eyes and slides his fingers into her hair, plucking out bobby pins and loosening her curls as they kiss. He can taste the citrus-wine on her tongue, knows the familiar rhythms of her sighs and moans. They kiss for what feels like ages, until he is breathless and has to break away. 

She presses her forehead against his, breathing as heavily as he. Her hands sink into the muscles of his back. He chuckles to himself, running fingers through her curls. 

“Josh,” she whispers. Her lips are close to his. 

He meets her dark gaze. “Tomorrow, pack a bag,” he says before kissing her again. 

*

They kiss in her car for what seems like hours, until their lips are swollen and his hands remember the arch of her throat and the curves of her breasts and waist, until she has mapped his chest and back and arms over his shirt. They kiss until his phone dings with a text from his dad, asking if he needs a ride. It all feels so _high school_ and he curses as she laughs breathlessly.

Then, she drives him home. He tells her he’ll pick her up at her parents’ house at five P.M. tomorrow. 

He feels more alive than he has in years. Something long frozen inside of him has dislodged and resurfaced. There is love and frustration and desire and the thrill of potential, of life unlocking and becoming new. 

It’s foolish, he tells himself even as he books the hotel room and the dinner reservations, as he tells his dad and Allison not to wait up the next evening, as he slips the necklace box into his duffel bag. It’s foolish to react so strongly to one evening, one kiss out of a thousand in his life. But Thalia was always different and ten years hasn’t changed that. His own writings betray him. 

He wonders if she’s read them, and sees herself in his words. 

Picking her up from her parents’ house is simple. She waits on the porch, a small satchel in hand, wearing a kelly-green shirt dress he wants to peel right off of her. When she slides into the passenger seat, blushing and smiling, he sees the twinkle of the earrings he gave her eleven Christmases ago at her ears. Immediately, his pulse jumps in his throat. 

“Hi,” he says, voice low.

She grins. “Hi.”

Memories of picking her up from the airport the first time she came back from France rise to the front of his mind. Can he stand an hour in the car with her and not touch her?

As they pull out of her parents’ driveway and head towards the main road over the waterways, she reaches over and puts her hand on his thigh. Glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, he grins and covers her hand with his. 

The drive is comfortably silent, with just a bit of chatter about their days. Josh doesn’t want to open up another layer of wounds between them yet. The first bandages have been lifted, but there is ten years of silence to navigate. They can’t brush it all aside or ignore the hurt they’ve caused each other, as much as he wants to just drown himself in her voice, her kiss, her curves. 

Dinner is at a small Italian place in the city Kate and Luke recommended to him when he first got home on leave. He hands over the keys to the valet and presses a hand to the small of Thalia’s back as they walk in. An air of tension settles over them as they are seated in a booth in the corner, lights dim and décor red. He watches her as she opens the menu, looking anywhere but at him. 

“White wine?” he asks her at last. 

“Yes. Red gives me headaches,” she murmurs. 

“See, that’s new to me.”

She looks up at him with a blink. “Oh?”

He smiles slightly. “We never got around to the drinking legally and classily stage.”

Thalia gives him a half-smile. “Just cheap beer in the back of your pick-up.”

“Taylor drives it now,” he says, deliberately shifting into safer territory. 

“I know. She and I talk,” she says. 

He didn’t know. His jaw tightens and he takes a deep breath. The server comes by, and he orders a bottle of pinot grigio for the table. 

“Sorry,” Thalia says after a moment of silence. 

He looks at her. “For what?”

She shrugs. “Taylor. I wanted to keep in touch. She, Allison and I worked on her applications for college. When I would come home, we’d have coffee.”

“I’m not mad that you talk to Taylor,” he says gruffly.

“You look mad.”

“Not about that. I’m mad that _we_ didn’t talk,” he retorts.

Her face goes pale as milk and he curses under his breath. There goes the safer territory. 

They’re quiet until the wine arrives. They order – vegetable risotto for her, the daily catch for him, burrata and tomato for the table. Bread and olive oil appears and he tears into it. Steam from the still warm bread rises between them. 

“You _were_ talking to me, though,” Thalia says after a long moment. 

He swallows his bite of bread, enjoying the taste of salt and yeast and olive on his tongue. “What do you mean?”

She looks up over her wine glass, taking a long sip. “Your blog. Your essays.”

Josh stares at her, breath caught in his throat.

“I think – I thought – you might be writing to me, in them,” she says softly. Her fingers play along the stem of her glass as she sets it down. 

“How did you find them?” he asks after a moment. The polished essays from the past few years have his name on them, but the blog, the early years – he was anonymous. 

She rolls her eyes but there’s an affectionate smile on her face. “Taylor.”

He snorts. “She sure is nosy.”

Thalia doesn’t laugh, but the smile remains. “I’m glad she sent me the links. The first few years, I worried about you so much. Sure, Allison and Taylor and Tess would let me know you were _alive_ , but – I was worried.”

Josh says nothing, transfixed by the sound of her voice, the framing of her curls around her face. He sips his wine as he watches her. 

She watches him in turn. “I always told them, if you didn’t want me to know things, I didn’t want to disrespect your feelings. Taylor told me we were both dumb, which – she was right. And when you started the blog and sending them the links – she would forward them on,” Thalia says quietly. “And it was such a _relief_ \- to hear your voice, even through the computer screen. It felt – “

Trailing off, she gives the server a smile as the burrata and tomato is served. Their wine glasses are topped off and they’re left alone again. 

Neither of them touch the food. 

“Thalia – “

“They all felt as if you were talking to me,” she says, interrupting him. “Sometimes it was painful. You wrote a series of posts from the South of France and all of them felt – pointed. As if you thought the country itself had betrayed you. But it was me. And I knew.”

For the first time in ten years, since seeing her tearful face in the back parking lot at the inn, begging him not to enlist, Josh feels every single painful moment of their separation, of her loss. He watches her, speechless, chest agonizingly tight. 

“And sometimes it was all wonder, like you wanted me to be there. You wrote about Kabul and the peaks and formations and the air, the poppy fields from above, and I thought you missed me, you wished I was there,” she continues. Her fingers dance nervously along her wine glass. “Every single post was a miracle to me. Because it meant you were alive and well. I’ve read every one, and I was so happy.”

He exhales slowly, reaching for his wine glass. A response doesn’t come immediately. He is completely overwhelmed by what she knows, what she sees. And he couldn’t even see her struggle when they were in the same space, ten years ago.

In the quiet cool restaurant, the hum of other diners muted around them, Thalia cuts into the burrata and sips her wine. Her cheeks are flushed red but she is composed as she eats. He finally clears his throat and finishes his wine in one long swallow, the tightness in his chest easing slightly. 

“I’m glad you like my writing,” he says at last. “And yes – I was writing to you. They started as letters, on paper. I never mailed them. One night on base in Kuwait, I was bored. I edited them and I started posting them online. They’re all rooted in writing to you.”

She smiles slightly, a gleam of tears in her eyes. “You were always a good writer.”

“I think you and Allison are the only ones to believe that,” he says. 

“Well who gives a shit what anyone else thinks?” she retorts, and he laughs out loud at the abruptness of it. 

“Fair enough,” he says, and reaches for the burrata. 

There is a pause, then, as their food arrives and they eat and drink their wine. Everything is light and fresh, salt and brine and crisp vegetables and garlic. She tells him about her siblings and their exploits, he tells her about postings, what he learned from his time in the Marines. 

“Two enlistments down,” he says as he signals for the check. 

“No dessert?” she asks, eyes wide and smiling.

He wets his lips and looks at her. “I’ve got ideas.”

She laughs quietly. When she reaches for her wallet, he waves her away and takes care of the bill. 

“Are you re-enlisting?” she asks as they walk out, waiting for the valet to bring back the car. 

He slings an arm around her shoulders and looks at her pointedly. “So what if I am?”

She looks away, leaning into the curve of his embrace. She doesn’t say anything else about it. 

In the car, driving to the hotel in an orange-purple blaze of a sunset, he reaches over and takes her hand as it rests in her lap. “I don’t know,” he says. 

She doesn’t say a word, just squeezes his hand. 

Sam and Meg had recommended this hotel, and Josh can see why as they pull up. It was a miracle they had an open room, but a hurricane threat scared off some tourists, and the staff gave him a sweetheart deal on one night. It’s real Southern charm, all blush pinks and brick, an open verandah off the side and surrounded by foliage. The valet takes the car and Josh takes his satchel and hers. 

Thalia hovers close as they check in. Every brush of her bare skin against his send a jolt through him, goosebumps rising along his spine and neck. He wants to tear off her dress and sink into her, never coming back to the real world. He’s as riled up as his 17-year-old self. Judging by the flush on her skin and the rapid rise and fall of her breasts under her dress, Thalia feels the same. 

Finally, in the spacious, cool bedroom, they face each other. The setting sun casts soft dusky light against her skin, her hair, the fall of her dress. Josh drinks her in, wondering if this is it – if this is their last shot, their last chance. 

Thalia breaks the moment first, toeing off her sandals and padding towards him. “It’s been a little while, for me,” she says. Her hands come up to his chest and begin undoing the buttons of his shirt. “But, I’m clean and on the pill.”

He watches her hands on his shirt, the freckles along her knuckles and wrists. “Me too. I mean, it’s been a while. And I’m clean.”

“But not on the pill?” she murmurs with a smile. 

He grins and shrugs off the shirt once she undoes the last button. He kicks off his shoes to the side of the room and they land with a soft thud on the thick carpet. “Not that I have a right to know, but how long is _a while_?”

“Over a year,” she says, shrugging. “Dating in Boston sucks.”

“No tweedy professors?” he asks as her hands move to his belt buckle. 

“That’s never been my type,” she says, voice low. 

A bolt of desire sweeps up his spine. He has to touch her, now. 

He reaches up and pulls the pins from her curls, loosening her hair over her shoulders and back as she slips the belt from the loops of his jeans. He traces his fingers along the line of her neck and collarbones under the collar of her shirt dress as she works on the button and fly of his jeans. His erection presses against his jeans and she passes light fingers over him. He hisses and she looks up with a small smile. 

“And you?” she asks, taking a step back. “Your last?”

He kicks off his jeans, left only in his boxers. “Two years or so.”

Thalia blinks, hands planted on her hips. “Yeah?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Think I’m lyin’?”

She blushes. “No.”

“Good,” he says, coming to her and putting his hands on the buttons open over her sternum. 

Her fingers are gentle on his chest and stomach as he undoes the buttons of her dress. The green cotton slides away from her skin and he drinks in the familiarity, taking note of the changes in her form. The curves are fuller and he can see faint tan lines along her shoulders, from tank tops perhaps. Freckles dot her skin like glimmers of bronze. He can’t stop from touching her as new inches are revealed, his palms on her belly, the dress pooling down past her hips and around her bare ankles. His fingers slide over the edge of her high-waist shaping shorts and inch them down, leaving her just in her pale cream bra and panties. 

Under his hands, she shivers. Her fingertips trace over the scars and marks from his time in active zones, the new lines and cuts of muscle and bone given to him by the Marines. 

“Josh – “ 

Her voice catches and he looks at her face, his hands at the dip of her waist. Her mouth trembles, eyes shining. “Did – Are you hurting?” she asks softly. 

He shakes his head. “No. I’d tell you.”

She nods. He can see her swallow, the muscles of her throat moving. Her gaze is soft and wanting. “I’ve missed you,” she whispers. 

He jerks her into his embrace and kisses her, his hands bracing at her back. She drapes her arms around his neck and kisses him back, her eyes closed and her mouth open and soft. Her whole body welcomes his, the press of her belly against his cock, her breasts against his chest, her tongue and his. Everything feels electrified, all the points of contact of skin against skin a reminder of life and what they can be together. Her fingers dig in against his scalp, against the short crop of his hair, and a shiver runs down his spine. 

“I’ve missed you too,” he says against her jaw as he pulls his mouth from hers, unable to stop from kissing any part of her. They sway and shift together towards the bottom of the bed. “I missed you when you went to France. I missed you when you went back. I missed you when you walked away from me in the parking lot of the inn ten years ago.”

She moans softly as his hands smooth over the line of her back and the curve of her ass, hitching her closer and closer to him. Her hands dig into his shoulders and she tips her neck back. His mouth follows the line of her throat and skim over her sternum. The bed calls and he urges her up to sit on the edge of it. Then, he stands back slightly and watches her, looks at every inch of her. 

Thalia shifts on the edge of the bed, watching him with wide dark eyes. Her mouth is pink and her pale skin flushed from head to toe. Every inch of her is precious and valuable. Josh smiles and kneels. 

“Oh god,” she murmurs. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve thought about this,” he says hoarsely. He slides his hands over her firm calves and the smooth flesh of her inner thighs, spreading her legs. His fingers slip under the hem of her panties, tugging lightly. She raises her hips and her panties slide over and down her legs, fluttering out of his grip to the floor. Auburn curls wait. 

Josh tips his head back, watching her watch him. He moves his lips along the curve of her right knee as he slips his fingers into her wet cunt, teasing her in the ways he remembers. One of her hands curves over his head. The other grips the duvet at her hip. The scent of her curls his toes. He presses and slides inside of her, mouthing at the juncture of thigh and hip. He can hear her breath catch, feel the tremble of her muscles under his touch. His cock aches between his legs. 

When he finally tastes her, she cries out and he can’t help but smile against her flesh. She is musky and sweet, a hint of salt on his tongue, and he is slow in mapping the curves and shapes of her. Her thighs press against his shoulders and he hums against her, causing her to shriek. All of her shudders as he works her into a frenzy, her nails digging into the nape of his neck. She is a creature of sound and shivers, his name falling from her lips in a breathless mantra. The feel of her on his mouth, the scent of her, the responsive way her hips arch into him, searching for friction and relief – he could do this every day for the rest of his life. 

She comes with a short low moan, clutching at his shoulders and quivering under him. He eases his mouth away, coaxing shudders from her as his fingers slip out, wet with her, curving over her thigh. He sits back on his heels, aroused to the point of distraction, and looks up at her. If he had seen her like this at 18, hair loose and wild around her face and shoulders, with the taste of her at the back of his throat and the ridges of her nails curved into the nape of his neck, he would have never let her go. 

Thalia passes her hands through her hair, still breathing heavily. “Jesus, Josh.”

He rises to his full height and edges her back onto the bed, crawling over her as she spreads out on her back like a nymph, all pale creams and bright reds against a soft sea blue duvet. 

“If we had done that ten years ago, I may have followed you anywhere,” he murmurs before kissing her, his knees straddling her hips and his wide hands at the rise of her breasts. 

She moans and arches into him, her hands relearning the structure and lines of his body. He kisses her until he is out of breath entirely, and even then he can’t stop kissing her skin, finding the freckles he knew like the back of his hand, searching out the new. Her thighs come up to cradle his hips and she rocks them over so that he is on his back on the bed, and she rises above him, flushed and beautiful. For a moment, all he can do is look at her, completely enthralled. 

Smiling slightly, she unhooks her bra and tosses it aside. He drinks in the curves of her naked breasts, her stomach, the scattering of freckles across her skin. His hands follow the swell of her hip, touching all the places he’s dreamed of for years. 

“I may have followed _you,_ ” she says softly, leaning over to kiss and mouth her way across his chest and shoulders. 

That’s a terrifying thought, to think of her in war zones. Even more terrifying is how much he _wants_ it – wants to feel worthy of her in all the ways that matter. He closes his eyes and savors the feel of his lips on his skin, how her teeth nip at his skin, how she is gentle and questing over his scars and wounds. Gooseflesh ripples over his skin and he grips her hips, rocking his erection into her wet cunt. 

Before long, she has her hands around his cock, stroking and teasing as she guides him inside of her. The feel of her bare, skin to skin, is intoxicating. He arches into her and digs his fingers into the giving flesh of her thighs. They move in slow aching tandem, her mouth soft and wet against his throat, his collarbones. All of him is desire and love for her, emotions he pocketed away years ago, made new in the setting sun ten years onward. 

Her second orgasm, spurred on by the gentle press and glide of his fingers at her clit and his thumb at her nipple, shudders through her, and he rolls her to her back, taking control of the speed and rhythm of their movements. She curls her arms around his neck and her thighs cradle his hips as he comes at last, trembling and gasping her name against the soft skin between her breasts. 

For long moments, they are quiet but for the rasp of their breathing, the slide of their limbs against one another. He shivers as he pulls out of her and rolls to his side, skin slick with sweat and heart racing. She stretches and smooths a hand over his side, rumpled and heavy-lidded. He bites his tongue on the words _I love you_. 

After a moment, she slides off the bed and heads to the bathroom. He sits up and pulls down the duvet, rubbing at his scalp and leaning back against the headboard. His joints are loose and he feels pleasantly satiated for the first time in years. But, he is prepared for a fall. 

When Thalia returns, she picks up his button-down shirt from the floor and slips it on. She buttons it in silence as she comes back to bed, sliding over the smooth sheets to sit next to him against the pillows and headboard. He looks at her, and she meets his gaze. 

“I don’t ever want us to not talk again,” she says.

Something in his gut unknots. “You know – you know how I’ve felt.”

She takes his hand, resting their joined grasp on her bare thigh. “I know. But things change. And – “

“Nothing’s changed for me,” he interjects swiftly. “Nothing at all.”

Thalia blinks, wetting her lips. She squeezes his hand. They’re on the brink of something here, something terrifying and familiar and new. 

“How can you know?” she asks softly. 

“I know what I know,” he says fiercely. 

“And that is?” she retorts.

He opens his mouth to blurt it out - _I love you_ \- but can’t. For all the talking and kissing and tension, he can’t lay himself out belly-up to her. For all he knows, she could walk away right now. What prospects can they even talk about together?

After a moment of quiet tension, Thalia sighs, sliding down the headboard to curl up on her side on the bed, facing him. He follows, wrapping a loose arm around her waist. Her face finds the crook of his neck and shoulder, and it all pieces together like the right kind of puzzle. 

“How long are you on leave?” she asks into the dim light. The sun has set and they didn’t bother with any lights, just living by the hum of the lit lamp on the dresser across the room. 

“January first,” he says, lips against the crown of her head. “But – I gotta tell them if I’m re-enlisting sooner.”

All of her seems to quiver and then stiffen next to him. “And you don’t know.”

“No.”

She hums and lays a hand on his abdomen. “Are you staying on Dare Island the whole time?”

“Gotta go to New York City with Aunt Meg, talk about the book. Other than that, yeah,” he murmurs, running his hand over the rise and fall of her waist and hips. 

Shivering, she arches like a cat against him, into his touch. “I’m proud of you,” she whispers. 

He flushes despite himself, her words filling him with a secret satisfaction he would never admit to. There is that soft underbelly that so few can reach. She is one of those few. 

At his silence, she tips her head back, looking at him. He takes the opening, leaning into kiss her softly. What starts slow and gentle soon turns syrupy with desire, his body alight with need for her again. He fills his hands with her, curves and softness and trembling skin.

“Josh,” she whispers against his mouth, breathless. 

Just the sound of her voice undoes him. He has to kiss her, has to keep his hands full of her, to keep from spilling out in a messy heap of longing and frustration and love in front of her. Before they fall into an exhausted slumber, curled into each other on the wide soft bed, they make love twice more and he goes down on her in the wide white gleaming shower. 

His last tangible thought before sleep is that it doesn’t feel like enough.

*

“I have a new cell number,” she says as he pulls into her parents’ driveway the next afternoon. 

Josh puts the car in park and shuts off the engine, eyeing her with a raised brow. The morning had been slow and sweet, making love in the wide bed again before check-out, and having a large leisurely breakfast in the hotel restaurant. The early afternoon sun gleams against the blue skies and turquoise waters on the island, a sea breeze pulling through their hair. 

“Mine is the same,” he says after a moment. 

Thalia looks at him, smiling slightly. “So, if I text you…”

Something clenches in his chest. “I would text back.”

“Nicely?” she asks archly. 

He smirks. “Babe, I don’t think you want me to be nice.”

A flush steals over her cheeks and she laughs. He wants to imprint her smile, the sound of her on his mind and skin. Leaning over, he cups her cheek in his hand and kisses her, long and slow and entirely inappropriate for being so close to her parents’ front door. She kisses him back in kind, her hand falling to his jean-clad thigh. His cock twitches and he groans softly, earning another laugh from her. 

“Thank you,” she says as they break apart, breathless and watching each other. 

He smooths her curls back from her face. “For what?”

She tilts her head, mouth curving slightly. “Dinner. The evening. The – the joy in feeling,” she says. 

Josh blinks, fingers twining gently in her curls. His knuckles brush her warm cheek. “I like that. The joy in feeling.”

Leaning over, she kisses him lightly once more. He holds her closer than he should, desperate to remember all of this. The necklace is in the glove compartment, and he reaches for it. 

“I’m not saying goodbye,” he says quietly, popping the door. “Not this time.”

She smiles, her gaze glassy. “Neither am I.”

He presses the velvet box into her lap. She looks down, startled. “Josh – “

“A Christmas present. A little delayed,” he says. “Don’t – don’t open it now. Just – take it.”

Thalia runs her hands over the box and nods, looking up at him once more. She doesn’t make a move to get out of the truck. He doesn’t want her to leave. 

“Promise you’ll text?” he asks, in a fit of vulnerability he regrets almost immediately. 

Thalia nods, squeezing his thigh lightly. “I promise.”

He watches her as she finally walks up to the front door of her parents’ home. She looks back and waves from the porch before heading inside. There’s a pang in his middle, a regret that she has to walk away at all. As if he should stop her and keep her with him always. 

Before he even merges back onto the main road, headed to his dad’s home, his phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number. He puts the car in park and swipes the message open. 

_Eyes on the road, soldier._

Josh smiles slightly, rubbing at his sternum and looking up over the road and sea grass towards the beach. Everything glitters in his gaze, for a brief glorious moment. 

*

Josh and Thalia text once or twice a day at first. Then, it’s stream-of-consciousness texting, a conversation that never ends. And then, after Thalia has a rough day teaching in the second week of class, the phone calls begin. 

The conversations, in the darkness of early fall nights when the house is asleep and Josh lays awake staring at his laptop, at his journal, wondering how he can turn anything into a book when he doesn’t even know where to begin, keep him sane. Thalia talks to him about students, about academic politics, about the hottest fall on record in Massachusetts, about Harvard undergrad and Penn State graduate work. He tells her about the island, about Allison and Taylor, how he’s helping out around the inn with repairs. His grandparents are stalwart but older now; it’s startling to see Tom with white in his hair, moving just a bit slower. How much more will Josh miss, if he deploys again?

One night in late September, with the remnants of a tropical depression battering the island with rain, he lays in bed and stares out the window into the darkness, the phone pressed to his ear. Listening to Thalia talk relaxes him, always has, especially when she gets animated. Her passion is contagious. 

“You never told me how New York went,” she says, startling him. 

“Oh, fine. Aunt Meg did most of the work,” he murmurs, gut clenching as he ignores his laptop sitting on his desk.

Thalia hums and he feels his cock twitch with interest. “What’s your deadline like?”

“Eh… manuscript draft by January. The timeline is flexible because – “

He stops and she exhales slowly through the phone. Because he doesn’t know where he’ll be in four months. 

“Want a break?” she asks after a moment. 

“From you?” 

“No,” she says, suddenly hesitant. Her nerves trickle through the phone. “I thought – we have a long weekend up here in October. And I thought, if you didn’t have plans… You might want to come visit.”

He sits up in bed abruptly, adrenaline coursing through his body. “Visit you?”

“Yes, Josh,” she says, a touch of exasperation in her voice. “I want to see you. I miss you.”

It’s an invitation he won’t refuse. 

“Yes,” he says, practically vibrating in every muscle. “I would love that.”

“Oh,” she says, soft and happy. “Oh, good. I’m really glad.”

He is, too.

*

Josh arrives in Boston on a rainy Friday afternoon, the second weekend in October. Logan Airport, the walls covered with New England sports and history décor, is incredibly busy, college kids and families on their way to a quick weekend at home or a short vacation away. He slings his duffle over one shoulder and carries his shoulder bag at his side, weaving between folks running for their gates and waiting in line for Dunkin Donuts. Most people head towards Central Parking, towards the rideshares and taxi pickups. He heads for the curb at Terminal A. 

Thalia is the one picking him up at the airport this time. He offered to rent a car and she laughed. 

“Wait until you get here. You’ll see,” she had told him through her laughter. 

The air is cool and damp, a startling difference from Dare Island. He breathes in crisp fall and the smell of exhaust and fuel as he steps outside the terminal. She is there, leaning against a dark blue Honda Civic, a black sweater coat belted at her waist. He catches the glimmer of the ill-fated Christmas necklace at her throat. 

Grinning, he walks over. “Hey, stranger.”

Instead of responding, she launches into his arms and kisses him soundly. He drops his duffle and slings an arm around her waist, laughing against her mouth. 

“Welcome to Boston, home of the New England Patriots, and the American Revolution,” she says against his lips. 

He chuckles. “I feel like Philly has something to say about that.”

Thalia shrugs. “Don’t tell them that up here. Ready?”

The drive to her apartment in Wellesley Hills takes _ages_. When he looked up the distance between the airport and her apartment, it seemed easy enough. Traffic in Boston makes no sense whatsoever, and he says so. 

“Oh, I know,” she says cheerfully as they turn off the Mass Pike. “Just think if I had forced you into taking public transit.”

From the press of the city to the abrupt shift to the suburbs, he admires the foliage, the river, the colonial-style houses and the new construction. Thalia lives just off the main road in Wellesley Hills, on the first floor of a three-story converted family home, with a front porch and a lawn and flower pots on the stairs. He looks it over as he gets out of the car and grabs his bag – the trees in the yard, the crispness of the air, the soft yellow shade on the front of the house. He likes it. 

For dinner, they go into the main part of Wellesley Hills to a restaurant called The Local. They share fried calamari and crispy brussels sprouts, slow-roasted short rib and butternut squash ravioli. Dessert is a cookie skillet with ice cream, and the local craft beer is delicious. He holds her hand intermittently at dinner, almost unable to believe that they’re together and here and it’s all happening. Thalia is relaxed here, chatting animatedly about her classes, the students she advises, her own work; he likes seeing her in a space she owns so clearly. 

This is the future he thought of in secret as a dumb teenager. Dinner, drinks, walking hand-in-hand through cool autumn nights, giving her his jacket when she shivers through her light cardigan. It’s a future he may still want. 

“I liked that place,” he says as they enter her apartment. He locks the door behind them as she moves into the dark living room, a blurry shadow of form. 

“I’m glad,” she says as she turns on a lamp, yellow light pooling around them. Her living room is comfortable, full of bookshelves and framed prints of North Carolina and art he doesn’t know, a soft grey sofa and matching loveseat. There is a dining room she uses as a home office, a small kitchen with relatively new appliances, a bathroom that could use a new sink, and her cozy bedroom. The apartment is perfect for one, maybe two. “I do like it up here.”

“I can tell,” he says, toeing off his shoes. He sticks his hands in his jeans’ front pockets, walking slowly towards her. 

She hovers in the open doorway between the living room and her home office, peeling off his borrowed jacket and laying it on the back of the loveseat. “It’s not very thrilling, I know.”

Stopping in front of her, he frowns slightly. “What do you mean?”

Shrugging, she motions around her. “The teaching life. It’s – you know.”

His frown deepens. “Thalia – “

“I know – I know this is what your mom does. And it’s – it’s not – “

He reaches out to take her hands in his, shaking his head. A cold knot forms in his gut. “Hey. I’m not a dumb kid anymore. I know – my mom did what she felt like she needed to,” he says quietly, watching her face. “She was basically a kid when she had me, and honestly, I’m not sure I blame her. She probably did the best thing for me.”

_And I never knew her, not really,_ he thinks. 

She wets her lips, letting out a slow breath. “Sometimes I get tunnel vision on a project, or I forget to eat breakfast, or I ignore a call from my parents to focus on grading,” she says softly. “It’s – it’s hard to not think this has to take precedence over almost anything.” 

Josh rubs his thumbs over the backs of her hands. “You’re passionate. Everyone who knows you knows that. And just for that, I’m gonna make sure you eat breakfast tomorrow.”

Exhaling out a laugh, she tilts her head up. “Okay, okay. I just – I’ve been thinking about what you said years ago, and I just – “

He arches an eyebrow. “If we’re talking high school – “

She squeezes his hand. “Shut up,” she murmurs before lifting up to kiss him. 

His hands drop hers and grasp at the soft flesh of her hips, pulling her close. “Yes, Professor,” he says between kisses.

A shiver runs through her whole body and he can’t help but grin. “Oh, I see now – “

“Don’t you say a word,” she mutters even as she melts into him and he into her, the feel of her body on his addicting and seductive. 

Later, when Thalia is asleep and a light rain patters against the windows, Josh lays awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. He listens to her slow breaths, and wonders if this is a life he can have. A life he deserves. 

*

A month later, the island is chilly with the approaching winter. Josh helps Tom and Matt get the inn into winter shape, does odd jobs around the island for Sam, fixes the boat, helps Allison and Matt with the new nursery, really gets to know his little sister. In the evenings and during cool sunny afternoons, he sits on the front porch with Pirate and works on his essays. On some weekends, Taylor comes up from the mainland and they all have family dinner at the inn. Sometimes, he and Taylor go to the Fish House and have a beer, roll their eyes fondly at their family. 

He and Thalia text every day, talk on the phone a few times a week – and emails. They can’t get out of the habit of emails. He doesn’t mind at all. Every bit of connection strengthens his commitment to – well, he isn’t quite sure what, yet. But he thinks he’s got the short-term plan figured out. 

The Wednesday before Veterans’ Day weekend, Thalia calls him as he sits on the porch, glaring at his laptop. 

“Hey, babe,” he mutters as he picks up. 

“Rough day?” she asks, voice low. She sounds… different. Nervous?

Josh leans back and stretches his spine, looking out across the browning lawn to the greying November skies. Allison is at school; her maternity leave will start with the holiday break in December. Amelia, too, is at school. Matt is working at the inn. Josh is alone in this house, and he wishes it was ten – eleven years earlier, when he could sneak Thalia into the house and hide out in his bedroom together. 

But it’s not, and he’s never snuck her into this house. Not yet. 

“Just working on edits. House is empty.”

She huffs out a laugh. “What we wouldn’t have given for an empty house ten years ago.”

He almost says it then - _I love you, I’m not enlisting again, let’s do this_ \- but he swallows it down and chuckles instead. Sitting at his booted feet, Pirate tilts his furry head on his paws and looks up through his lashes. 

“Mind-reader, babe,” is all Josh says instead. “What’s up?”

After a brief pause, she clears her throat. “Well, I’ll be in Wilmington starting tomorrow. And I thought – maybe – “

“What’re you doing in Wilmington?” he asks. And then – “How long – “

“Easy, soldier,” she says. He can hear the smile in her voice. “I’ve got a thing at the Wilmington campus. And I figured, it’s a long weekend up in Boston, so I could stay down here – and maybe you could come see me?”

The hesitancy in her last words kills him. “Name the time, I’m there.”

“It won’t mess up your work?” 

“No,” he says firmly. “If you’re here, I wanna see you. I always wanna see you.”

She hums and the sound sends a pleasant shiver through him. “I get in tomorrow morning early, I’ll be done Friday morning. Maybe we could do a day and a night in Wilmington, and then – “

“I’ll come tomorrow, if you want,” he interjects. 

“Well – yeah, ok. Yes. And then, can we drive up to Dare Island? My flight out of here isn’t until Monday afternoon. I thought we could do dinner or something with my parents, and with your family...”

She trails off and he squints off into the distance, trying to puzzle out her plans. Of course she would want to come back to the island. He’s not sure how often she makes it down here, but she’s an adjunct professor at a small liberal arts college, so it’s not like she’s flush with cash for travel (he’s done some research on the academic job market, just… in case). But dinner? With her folks? They have an uneasy détente, he assumes they _know_ about the two of them. 

“Yeah, that sounds good,” he says after a moment. “Whatever you want to do.”

And that’s how Josh Fletcher ends up in downtown Wilmington on late Thursday afternoon, killing time. When he texted Thalia to let her know he had found the Hilton and gotten his copy of her room key, she told him she’d be out until at least eight in the evening – whatever this event was, it included dinner. So, he wanders around Wilmington, taking note of a sports bar or two that he might grab a bite and a beer at. 

He finds dinner and a seat at a local sports bar that isn’t yet crowded with undergraduates, absently flicking his eyes up at the pregame show for the Thursday night NFL game as he takes long swallows of his Highland Pilsner. He picks at his burger, glancing at his phone. He had texted her his location when he sat down, and all she’d sent back was a thumbs up emoji. His left leg jiggles under the bar, and he wishes he’d brought a book, or a crossword. 

“Another?” the bartender asks, a friendly smile in a sea of twenty-one year olds. 

“Sure – and a pinot grigio for my girl, when she gets here?” Josh adds. 

The bartender nods and turns away. Josh sighs and tips his pint glass to finish his beer. 

A hand lightly grazes his shoulders and he turns his head to find Thalia sliding into the seat next to him, cheeks flushed. “Have you been waiting long?” she asks. 

“Not waiting at all,” he says with a smile, leaning over to kiss her lightly. Her lips curve into a smile under his. 

She nods and says a thank you to the bartender as they slide a glass of pinot grigio to her and exchanges Josh’s empty pint for a full. “You’re a mind reader.”

Josh shrugs, raising his eyebrows at her. “Should we toast to something?” he asks. 

She echoes a shrug right back. “Just to being here together, right?” 

He smiles slightly and raises his glass to tap against her own. “I’ll drink to that every day and any time,” he murmurs. 

Thalia sips her wine and looks at him over the rim of her glass as she sets it down on the smooth granite bar counter. “Thank you for coming.”

“Always, babe,” he says. 

He watches quietly as she nicks a few French fries from his plate, his right hand moving to rest on her thigh. She shrugs out of her coat and sighs. 

“You’re all dressed up,” he says, looking over her. Her usual teaching attire is professional but simple – she likes to move around the classroom when she teaches, so a full suit is useless, and she often avoids blazers if she can help it. But today – today it’s a sharp grey and brown herringbone blazer over a midnight blue dress, tights and polished brown heeled boots. Her hair is up in a knot he can’t wait to pluck pins from. Everything from her earrings (the ones he gave her, all those years ago) to her makeup to her shoes is amplified in a way he’s rarely seen, though she is always beautiful to him. 

She wets her lips with the tip of her tongue, curving her hand over his as it rests on her thigh. “This is my job interview outfit,” she says after a moment. 

Josh blinks. “Job?”

Leaning into him so their shoulders touch, she nods. “They have a tenure-track opening in their History department that will be affiliated in their Gender Studies Research Center as well. Undergrad and grad classes, a chance to lead research projects, more teaching-focused,” she says, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles. Her eyes are focused on his face. “I’m one of the candidates they invited for a visit and teaching demo.”

Mouth dry with nerves, he watches her carefully. “Is – is it something you want?” 

She nods. “I liked it a lot. I liked teaching the demo classes, it’s more diverse than Wellesley, it’s – it’s closer to home, I like Wilmington, I – “

“Babe, you’re rambling,” he says with a slight smile. “You’ve got other interviews, yeah?”

Thalia shrugs. “I’ve applied a bunch of places, got some phone interviews, might get campus interviews – it’s dicey,” she says. 

“But you felt good about today?” he asks. 

“I did,” she says with a soft smile, and sips her wine. 

Josh doesn’t press any further as they finish their drinks, as she picks at his fries and he pays the tab. They slip out into the chilly November air just as the undergrads start milling in the streets in earnest, ready for Thirsty Thursday. 

“Did you have Thirsty Thursdays at Harvard?” he asks as they walk back to the hotel hand in hand. 

Thalia laughs. “Of course, but they said it in Latin or whatever.”

In the artificial quiet of the hotel room, they each perform their nightly routine. Soon, Josh sits up against the headboard of the bed, idly watching the football game on tv as he listens to Thalia wash her face and brush her teeth. Her outfit for the morning’s events is hanging up on the door. She hums around her toothbrush and he smiles, crossing his ankles and laying his hands on his stomach. Even in a impersonal hotel room, with her here he is more relaxed than he’s been in years, maybe. 

She flips off the bathroom light as she crosses the threshold, wearing a pair of flannel plaid pajama pants and an old Dare Island basketball t-shirt of his she nabbed years ago. It’s a bit ragged and holey with age; he’s always so happy to see it on her. 

“Who’s winning?” she asks with a yawn as she checks that her phone is charging and her alarm is set before crawling into bed and squirming under the covers next to him. 

He shrugs. “No clue,” he says, flipping off the tv and setting the remote aside. The room is swathed in darkness, with just the faint silvery lights of the city slipping through the curtains. He blinks, adjusting to the change of light, and joins her under the blankets. 

Thalia reaches out and strokes his chest and belly through his t-shirt. “I’m glad you’re here,” she murmurs. 

Smiling faintly, he shifts onto his back and reaches over to tug her to him. She slides across the bed and turns half onto her side, tucking her face into the crook of his neck, her arm settling over his stomach. 

“When will you find out about this job?” he asks into the darkness, his hand passing over her hair gently.

She huffs out an exhale, air warm against his skin. “God – hopefully… before Christmas. Depends on how many folks they’re bringing in, where I am in the list,” she murmurs sleepily. 

“Do – do you want it?” he asks after a moment. His heart skitters in his chest. 

Against him, she goes still for just a moment before her breath returns. “Yes,” she whispers. 

He dips his head and presses his lips to the top of her hair briefly. She relaxes into sleep, curled up against him. Josh shuts his eyes and drifts away, a dream taking tangible shape. 

*

Friday afternoon, they drive to Dare Island, to home. Thalia is cheerful but tight-lipped about the morning’s events on campus. 

“Best to just… focus on what’s ahead,” she says. “I don’t want to get my hopes up.”

With a half-hour to go until they reach Matt and Allison’s house (where they’ll be staying, Matt and Allison insisted), Josh glances at her. Thalia has her left hand resting lightly on his jean-clad thigh, looking out the passenger window at the grey November skies. Her curls are loose around her shoulders, cheeks flushes. He wonders if he’ll ever get tired of watching her. 

“Hey,” he says. 

She glances over at him, squeezing his thigh. She’s wearing his earrings, her legs crossed at the knee under her soft navy and blue patterned sweater dress. With the setting sun glinting orange against the grey clouds and choppy shore waters, she’s everything he’s ever wanted. His cheeks flush and he swallows hard, gripping the steering wheel.

“Hey back,” she says with a smile. 

He was going to ask her how she convinced her parents to let her stay with him, or what she wanted to do for dinner, or whether they ought to get a hotel for Sunday night in Wilmington, so that they’re closer to the airport for her flight on Monday. Instead – 

“I love you,” he blurts out, keeping her gaze. 

Her soft mouth drops open and her hand clutches hard at his jean-clad leg. “Josh – “

Swearing under his breath, he signals right and pulls off onto the shoulder of the road. He puts the car in park and shuts off the engine, twisting against his seatbelt to face her full-on. “Thalia – I love you,” he repeats, feeling the heat rise off his face and neck. But, he keeps his eyes on hers, determined. “I loved you when I was seventeen – I loved you when I was twenty-one and stationed in France and reminded of you everywhere. I’ve thought about you nearly every day of my life, and I never thought I’d get the chance to tell you.”

Thalia stares at him, her eyes wide. He can’t seem to stop talking. 

“I know – I know there are things to work out. I know we should be – careful – or patient – or all those fucking adult things - but I had to tell you,” he says, a little helplessly. “Because I was a coward ten years ago, and I won’t be one again.”

He has barely finished before she launches herself over the arm rest and cupholders and kisses him. Her hands cup his face and he can’t help but relax into her touch, shutting his eyes and kissing her just as fiercely as she does him. His hands cup at her waist, feeling the curve of her through her dress, frustrated by the press of his seatbelt through his shirt. She is laughing against his mouth, stroking her thumbs over his cheekbones, and he smiles. 

When she pulls back, he tries to chase her mouth with his but the seatbelt restrains him. He opens his eyes to look at her, finding her breathless and flushed. Her hands curve at his jaw, smoothing over the stubble there. 

“I love you, too,” she says softly. “I – Josh – “

He reaches up to take her hands in his, bringing them between them and lacing his fingers into hers. “We’ll talk about it all,” he says quietly. 

She nods, squeezing his hands and grinning brightly. “Yeah,” she says, a laugh breaking through. “What is it with us and cars?” she adds. 

He laughs, and kisses her again. Her smile is contagious and he feels it right down to his bones. 

*

Dinner that evening is at home with Allison, Matt, and Amelia. Thalia and Amelia, who apparently have met more times than Josh has met his own sister, giggle as they set the table. Matt makes chicken parmesan, one of those comfort foods Josh remembers from living with Grandma and Grandpa, and Allison brings out a cake from Jane’s bakery, which Thalia is completely delighted by. The family dinner feels… comfortable. Like home, in a way Josh hasn’t felt in a long while. 

After dinner and chocolate cake, Thalia borrows the rental car to go stop by her parents’ place briefly. Josh brings her overnight bag into his bedroom, with nary a look or word from his dad or Allison. He then goes to sit on the top stair of the front porch, pulling on an old hooded sweatshirt and grabbing a beer as he passes through the house. The warm lighting casts a glow along the pebbled walkway, the dying November grass. Josh inhales the chilly, salty air and takes a sip of his beer, rubbing his thumb along the bottle’s neck. 

The door swings open behind him with a creak. “Want some company, kid?”

Josh turns his head and finds Matt and Amelia in the doorway. Amelia has a mug of something steamy, and Matt has his own beer. 

“Sure thing,” he says with a nod. 

Amelia bounces forward, bundled up in enough layers to suffocate her – he assumes that’s Allison nesting – and plops down right next to him. It’s hot cocoa in her mug, and Josh nudges her. 

“No marshmallows, Ames?” 

She pouts. “Mama said I’ve already had enough sugar,” she mutters, smooth light brown hair settling around her shoulders. 

“Bummer,” Josh says as Matt sits down on Amelia’s other side. 

“I like that nickname,” Amelia says out of the blue. “Only you and Dad call me that.”

Josh meets Matt’s warm eyes over her head. “Well, I think it suits you,” he says at last. 

She beams up at him and sips her cocoa. “I like Thalia, can she come stay with us more?” 

Rubbing the back of his neck, Josh takes a long swallow of his beer and looks out to the lawn, the boundary where the yellow light from the house dissipates into dark absence. “Hope so,” he murmurs. 

“She’s welcome anytime,” Matt adds in his calm way. 

Josh slants a glance his dad’s way. There’s a certainty in his stomach now. He hopes tomorrow’s dinner with the Hamiltons doesn’t totally gut his courage, but he won’t run scared. 

“Same for me, I hope,” he jokes lightly. 

Matt’s dark eyes narrow slightly while Amelia tucks her cheek against Josh’s arm. 

“I like when you visit,” she says quietly. 

Regret clouds his mood, as pervasive as the chill. He’s missed so much of her early years, of the life his dad and Allison have built – and yet, he is always welcomed with open arms and more. He has never been made to feel apart or separate. Wetting his lips, he wraps an arm around her slim shoulders and kisses the top of her head. 

“I’ll stick around, Ames,” he says quietly, looking at their dad. 

Matt smiles slightly. “Is that right?”

Josh nods. It’s the closest he’s come to telling anyone about his decision regarding his next steps. Saying it out loud feels… right. 

Matt reaches over and ruffles Josh’s hair – growing out now after some time out of the corps. “Proud of you, Josh,” he says roughly. 

Ducking his head, Josh smiles into his little sister’s hair. There are the faint sounds of Allison inside, the quiet rise and fall of his sister’s and father’s breaths, the dull rush and release of the waves against the distant shore. The three of them sit together, sipping their drinks of choice, quiet in the way the Fletchers have perfected. 

Headlights flicker ahead and the rental car comes to a crawling stop. Amelia is on her feet in a moment, pushing her mug into Matt’s hand and flying down the steps to Thalia as she gets out of the car and walks towards the house, calling her name. Josh smiles, tucking further into his hoodie. 

“Y’all talk about it yet?” Matt asks quietly. 

“Me staying? No, but we will,” Josh replies, knocking his beer bottle against Matt’s in a light tap. 

Nodding, Matt taps back and takes a swallow of his beer. The Fletcher men watch as Thalia and Amelia walk back to the porch, arms swinging from their latched hands, and smile. 

*

Early on Sunday morning, Allison and Matt and Amelia run errands on the mainland, leaving Josh and Thalia alone in the house. 

Josh, who woke before Thalia, brings two mugs of coffee back up to his bedroom, where she dozes lightly, her hair piled in a tangle of curls atop her head. He sets her mug on the nightstand and slips back into bed, sitting up against the headboard and sipping from his mug as he watches her pull herself into wakefulness. 

Dinner with her parents had gone pretty well, he thought. They’d asked him about the book, about his time in the corps. Maybe he’d just imagined their bias as a teenager… or maybe being an actual adult now made a difference. He wasn’t one to hold a grudge; after all, Thalia has a great relationship with them. The three of them did most of the talking over drinks and dinner at the Fish House. As with Matt and Allison, she was vague but positive about the job interview in Wilmington. 

He knows, of course, that she wants it. What he wants to know is what that means for them. 

“Ugh,” Thalia murmurs, snapping him out of his thoughts. He looks down at her as she rolls onto her side to face him, blinking her eyes open. “Morning.”

“Morning, babe,” he murmurs. “Coffee?”

She pushes herself to a seat with a groan, nodding. Curls slip from her messy updo to slide around her neck and face. “Thank you,” she murmurs when he hands her the coffee mug, and takes a sip. “Where is everyone?”

He schools his face into stillness. “They went to the mainland to run some errands,” he says, sipping his coffee. 

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Josh. Empty house?”

“Empty house.”

“And we’re drinking _coffee_?” she asks, looking him over. 

“We’re grown, Thalia, we don’t need to jump each other the second we’re alone,” he says, deeply amused. 

Thalia looks at him for a silent beat. Then, she slides out of bed, sets her coffee mug down on the desk, and kicks off her blue plaid flannel pajamas. He watches silently, amused and aroused. 

“We’re not _that_ grown, Fletcher,” she murmurs, and tugs her t-shirt off over her head. 

She’s abruptly, gloriously naked, her skin rippling into gooseflesh as the cool air touches it. Mouth dry, Josh immediately sets his mug down and strips off his own shirt. She laughs and climbs back into the bed, straddling him as he sits shirtless against the headboard. His hands come up to her loosening updo, finding the hair tie and tugging it gently free. Her curls fall across his hands and her shoulders as she leans in to kiss him. The taste of coffee is on her tongue, masking the faint sour touch of morning breath, and he pulls her closer, opening his mouth to hers. 

Her hands slide over his bare chest, finding tight ribbons of scars and pockmarks of wounds from years ago. She’s never asked for his war stories, but he knows she’s curious. One day, he’ll tell her everything she wants to know. As they kiss, long and slow and breathless with anticipation, he pulls the sheets and quilt up over her, to cover her at the waist. 

“Aren’t you a gentleman?” she whispers against his mouth. 

“Yes ma’am,” he murmurs, cupping her breasts and thumbing at her nipples. Despite sleeping in the same bed for three nights in a row, this is the first time they’ve had space to feel, to touch, to enjoy. Both of them had tacitly agreed, no sex when there were others in the house. At least, this visit. 

She hums and runs her lips along his stubbled jaw, reaching down to stroke his cock through his boxers. He shudders and rocks his hips up, his hands flinching against the curves of her breasts. Inhaling sharply, Thalia murmurs his name on the exhale, her grip just tight enough to send shivers right down his spine. 

“Hold on babe – “ he breathes, raising his hips and trying to push his boxers down. 

Leaning up and away, she pulls his boxers down to his knees and he kicks them off from there. Kneeling next to him, watching him, she wets her lips. 

“Stay still,” she commands, before she ducks her head under the sheets. 

Her mouth is a wet warm shock at the head of his cock, her hand curving around the root and stroking. He swallows a gasp and shoves his palm into the mattress, knuckles white. The sounds of gulls and faint ocean waves fill his ears like white noise against the pleasure in his limbs. He nudges back the sheets to watch her, his beautiful girl, to touch her curls, her cheeks, to whisper to her as she takes him slow and easy. His toes curl with the effort not to come, sweat beading along his brow, and he moans low in his chest. 

“Thalia – I want – “ he gasps. 

She lifts her mouth from the head of his cock, eyeing him as she continues to work him with her hand. “Me?” she asks, voice hoarse. 

In response, he reaches for her and pulls her into his lap once more. She squeaks and settles with her knees pressed into the mattress, her soft thighs bracketing his hips. His body thrums with desire as he traces the full pout of her mouth, the apple curves of her cheeks, the edges of her collarbones and down. Down his hands travel, mapping freckles and pale stretch marks from youth and growth and changing curves, to between her thighs, soft damp curls that part for his searching touch. 

When he circles her clit, pressing two fingers inside her, she gasps and curls her hands around his neck, her nails a soft press into his nape. She rocks against him and he presses his hips up into hers in turn, his mouth finding hers. They kiss hard and fast, breath starting to leave them both, his teeth scraping along her bottom lip, his tongue finding the taste of him on hers. 

“Josh – Josh, _please_ \- “ she mutters against his lips, and how can he deny her? Why would he deny her?

He takes his cock in the hand slick with her, pressing into her slow and steady. She sucks in a breath above him and meets him, their hips pressed together. With one hand digging into the flesh of her thigh and the other running over her lower back and up her spine, he looks at her flushed face, breathing sharp and staccato. She’s never looked more beautiful to him, her hair spilling over her shoulders, her fingers digging into 

“Move, love,” he whispers, and she gives him what he asks. 

Later, sweaty and sated, they curl into each other against the headboard, sipping the cooling coffee in their mugs. He strokes his hand over her belly absently as she leans her cheek against his shoulder, the blankets and sheets tucked around their hips. 

“Thalia,” he says after a long comfortable quiet. “I’m not re-enlisting.”

At that, she shoots up so fast, she nearly sends her mug across the bedroom. He starts as well, staring at her as she sits up into a kneel, meeting his gaze. 

“You’re – you’re not?” she repeats after a moment, eyes wide. 

“No,” he says, setting his nearly empty mug aside. “I’m not.”

Saying it out loud, to her – it is real. And he feels nothing but settled, anticipatory. 

Thalia rubs a hand over her eyes. “I need a shirt,” she mutters as she pushes herself from the bed and tugs on his shirt, setting her mug back on the desk. 

“Are – are you mad?” he asks carefully. 

She pushes her hair from her face, coming back to sit on the edge of the bed. “No. I just figured – clothes are good when talking about momentous life things,” she says a little dryly. 

Josh wets his lips, straightening up on instinct. He keeps his lower half covered by the mussed sheets and blankets. “Okay. Well – I – “

“When did you decide this?” she asks evenly. She’s in professor mode, something she’s honed since her teen years. He’s reminded of the day she came to tell him about France, and Camille’s offer; she is resolute and neutral. 

He reaches out, resting his palm on her bare knee. “I’ve been thinking about it since I came home,” he says quietly. “I’ve – I’ve missed a lot, here. And I don’t have much appetite for fighting.”

“You don’t need to go into combat zones,” she says. “You could stay in and on base.”

He shrugs. “Sure, but – that’s not what I want. I don’t want to stay in. I served my country, and I served it well. But I want – I want something different,” he says. 

“What do you want?” she asks. 

Huffing out a breath, he rubs his thumb over her skin, pressing against freckles he wants to memorize for good. 

“Well, I want to finish my book,” he says with a chuckle. She smiles faintly, her mouth trembling. “And I want to spend more time with Amelia, and Dad and Allison, and the new baby. My family. I might want to write more. Might want to take some college classes. And –“

He squeezes her knee, pressing his lips together. “I love you, Thalia. And I want to be with you,” he finishes. 

A flush suffuses her face and throat and she lets out a small exhale. “Josh.”

“And – I don’t know, I just figured you might – “ he shrugs, suddenly shy. There’s a lump in his throat. “I figured you felt the same way.”

Her whole body thrums with nervous energy. She shifts on her knees, as if she wants to launch herself at him. “I – I do –“ 

He saves her the trouble, reaching out to grasp her waist and pull her on top of him. She squeaks and falls against his chest, her hands braces on his ribs. When she’s close enough he kisses her, one arm wrapped around the small of her back and his other hand loosely fisted in her hair. Her curls, her curves, her arms – she surrounds him everywhere and he closes his eyes and smiles into her kiss, sliding his hand under the hem of her shirt to rest on the bare skin of her back. 

“But – but you can’t just – follow me around everywhere?” she whispers between kisses. 

He runs the flat of his fingernails over the dip of her spine. “Why not? I could be your academic trophy boyfriend,” he murmurs. Pleasure and relaxation fills his every pore. The word _husband_ nearly slips out, but he catches himself. Not yet. He’ll do it right. 

She laughs, running her hands over his chest and shoulders, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. He opens his eyes to find her face hovering over his, the tips of their noses nearly touching. Her eyes are watery and bright. She touches him as if he is precious. 

“We can – we can talk about it,” she whispers. “Are – are you sure?”

In answer, Josh tips his head up to kiss her, his eyes closing so he can breathe her in. 

In the dark of their hotel room in Wilmington that night, they don’t sleep. There is an unspoken understanding of permanence between them, in every touch and kiss and gasp and sigh. Dropping her off at the airport on Monday morning, he can let her go off without regret. She will be back. Soon, they will have a future he imagined only in the briefest of moments, the wildest of dreams. 

*

Thalia comes home for the Christmas holiday, and Josh picks her up from the airport. It’s a re-do of eleven years prior, with both of them older and wiser and surer. 

She still drops her carry-on and kisses him as soon as she sees him outside the security gates, though. 

While she’ll stay with her parents for most of the week she’s home, he asks her to come to Christmas Eve midnight mass with the whole Fletcher clan. He doesn’t think much of religion, but Tess loves the tradition – the whole family does. Thalia immediately agrees, and will stay the night with him, too. She thinks they’ll be staying in Matt and Allison’s house. Josh has other plans. 

There is a light dusting of snow on Christmas Eve, but the skies are clear. The breeze stiffens him right up, chilly and salty. He picks Thalia up in his dad’s truck on the way to church, and she kisses him with a cold bright smile on her lips. They make idle chatter, and as soon as they reach the church, both Amelia and Taylor swarm Thalia to say their hellos. 

Of course she fits right in with his bonkers family, he thinks as Thalia hugs Meg and Kate, as his cousins swarm around from adult to adult, as Tess and Tom stand apart with secret smiles just for him. They know his plan, as do Matt and Allison, and Taylor went into the mainland with him last week to help him with his present shopping. He also took her out for dinner and drinks to celebrate her finishing her law school applications and her LSAT, which he can hear her telling Thalia all about as Amelia runs over to him and loops her arm into his. The whole Fletcher crew walks into church together for the first time in ten years. 

Throughout the service, Thalia keeps her hand clasped in his. She’s beautiful in her camel-colored coat, belted in at the waist, though he’s dying to peel the layers off of her. Amelia nods off against Matt’s shoulder, and Meg and Sam’s twins practically hop up and down the whole time. Taylor catches his eye over the heads of their cousins and smiles brightly. He grins back and squeezes Thalia’s hand. 

The Fletchers don’t linger in the parking lot, nodding and saying brief hellos to Jane and Gabe, to Lauren and Jack, and their various broods. A few of the adults eye him and Thalia curiously, but all he can do is shrug and smile, and Thalia giggles into his shoulder. Flurries start from the grey-black skies as they all pile into their cars for home, for sleep, for Christmas morning. 

“I forgot how nice that all is,” Thalia says as they crawl out of the parking lot. “Makes me miss home.”

He glances at her, but doesn’t say anything. She hasn’t said anything about the Wilmington job, though she’s been on one other job interview at one of the Virginia universities. He knows she’ll tell him when there’s something to tell; besides, he’s happy to follow her anywhere. Happy to prove it, day after day. 

“It is nice,” he says. 

She tilts her head towards him and smiles, reaching out to brush her hand over the nape of his neck briefly. “I mean, organized religion is just a tool for controlling the masses and subjugating anyone not a white man,” she adds. 

Snorting, he starts to speed up. “Obviously.”

“But structural patriarchal hierarchies can’t be undone in a single evening. And the singing is nice,” she allows. 

“Keep talking like that, Teach, and we won’t make it home.”

“Why, Josh Fletcher, in your father’s truck?” she laughs. 

He glances at her. “Anywhere, babe.”

She wrinkles her nose at him and runs her fingertips through the dark hairs at the back of his neck before she pulls her hand back to her lap. “You tease.”

When they don’t follow Matt and Allison’s car on the turn to their house, she clears her throat. “You asleep over there, soldier?”

“Got a surprise for you,” he murmurs, looking over at her. 

Smiling slightly, she bites her bottom lip and quirks her eyebrows. “I hope it involves being inside, because I don’t want to have sex in your dad’s truck on the beach.”

“C’mon, you know me better than that,” he says lightly.

White-silver flurries swirl around them as they pull into the Pirate’s Rest parking lot. He hops out of the driver’s side and hurries over to help her out of the truck, where she’s looking at him curiously. 

“Josh, what are – “

“Just trust me, yeah?” he asks softly, looking down at her bright freckled face. 

“Of course I do,” she says immediately, rolling her eyes fondly. “Can’t blame a girl for being curious,” she adds, grabbing her overnight bag and popping up to kiss his cheek. 

They walk around the inn to the back of the house, where the guest cottages still thrive. Quiet in the offseason, they are the only guests on Christmas Eve. Josh takes her to the cottage he grew up in, the one they studied together in, and walks her up the front porch. Muted light from within casts a warm glow on her curls, the snow flecked and melting there. 

By now, her face is solemn and her eyes are wide. “Josh – “

He presses two fingers to her lips, silencing her. “C’mon,” he murmurs, and opens the front door. 

The cottage is warm, smelling of pine and juniper. A vase of bright pink-purple dahlias brightens the living room. He breathes in the familiarity, and smiles slightly. Shutting the front door behind them, he places his hands on her shoulders. “Coat?”

She turns and looks up at him, setting her overnight bag down. “What are we doing here?” she asks lightly as she unbelts her coat and shrugs it off into his waiting hands. Her forest green sweater dress clings at her waist and swings at her knees. Milk pearl studs flicker at her earlobes. 

“Privacy,” he says with a shrug. “And one of your presents is here.”

Eyeing him, she glances down at his trousers as he takes off his own navy peacoat and hangs it by hers on the pegs next to the front door. “Is it – “

“Thalia, please,” he chuckles, toeing off his shoes. 

She snorts and leans down to unzip her black ankle booties. Once they are both shoeless, he takes her hand and leads her down the hall to his old teenage bedroom.

“Are we going to roleplay writing term papers about _Hamlet_ again?” she asks wryly from behind him. 

“There’s a thought,” he murmurs. “But, no.”

Wood flooring creaking under their toes, he lets her into the bedroom first. When she stops three feet into the room, he takes a deep breath and edges up behind her. 

On the twin bed where they spent hours together, there are two boxes wrapped in silver and gold paper. One is the size of an 8 ½ x 11 inch notebook, but quite thick; one is the size of a ring box. The bedside lamp is lit, with a spray of jasmine in a small glass vase scenting the room. It looks nothing like the bedroom of his youth but is full of memories, of her. 

“Josh,” she whispers. 

“Open the big one first,” he says, nudging her at the small of her back. 

He watches her shoulders rise and fall with a breath, and then she walks purposefully over to the bed. Sitting down on the edge, she takes the larger package into her hands and looks up at him as she starts to peel off the paper. He grabs the office chair from the small desk in the corner and sits in it, right across from her. Resting his elbows on his knees, he clasps his hands together in front of him, glancing between her and the weave of his black knit sweater. 

“Oh,” she says, once she’s lifted the lid from the box, and set it aside to pull out its contents. 

“They’re the letters I wrote you,” he says, voice husky. He swallows and clears his throat. “I – you’ll read the manuscript, of course. You’ll see the polished, edited version of the essays.”

She looks up at him, eyes wide and gleaming, her hands stroking gently over the bound pages. He smiles slightly. “I thought you deserved to read them.”

“Thank you,” she says softly, voice thick with emotion. “I – I love this, so much. I love you, so much.”

“I love you too,” he says, edging forward on his chair just slightly. “You’ve got one more there.”

“Is it a flash drive of more secret writings?” she teases, setting aside the bound letters and picking up the smaller package. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” he murmurs. 

“You’re a real renaissance man, Josh Fletcher,” she says with a laugh, peeling away the paper. 

The black velvet box stops her voice. As she looks up to him, he shifts out of the chair, and onto his knees. 

“Oh my god,” she whispers. 

His mouth curves into a half smile. “Hey, keep going.”

“Josh – “ her voice breaks. 

Sighing, he reaches up and opens the box as it sits in her loose, warm fingers. Inside, a sapphire ring blinks at her, sitting set between two pearls in a silver band. It reminded him of the ocean, of the sheen of her skin under his, of the gleam in her eyes. And, he knows how she feels about diamonds – and even if he hadn’t, Taylor was there to remind him multiple times in the antique store. 

Her fingers clutch at the box, and in turn he curves his hands around hers. “Thalia – “

Her damp gaze, luminous in the warm yellow light, flies to his. “Are you serious?”

His face settles into solemn lines. “Yes.”

“You want to marry me?” she asks, breathing shallow. 

“Yes. Will you?” he asks quietly. 

She stares at him for what feels like eternity. Then, blinking away tears, she slides from the bed to her knees in front of him, pulling the ring from its box and pushing it into his hands. The velvet box hits the hardwood floor with a dull thump. 

“Yes,” she whispers, holding out her left hand.

Relief courses through him and he lets out a half-laugh, half-gasp. He slips the ring onto her fourth finger and sets it snugly at the base. “Fuck, that was nerve-racking,” he murmurs. 

Thalia stares at the ring for a moment, her left hand interlaced with his right. When he reaches up with his free hand to cup her damp, flushed cheek, she meets his gaze straight on. 

“They offered me the UNC-Wilmington job,” she blurts out. “I was going to tell you tomorrow – or – whatever day it is – and – “

He lets out a shout, jumping to his feet and pulling her up with him. “That’s incredible, babe,” he murmurs into her hair as he wraps her up in his arms. “Are you taking it?”

She chokes out a laugh, her arms wrapped around his waist. “I – I want to. Would you – would you like living in Wilmington?” 

“As long as you’re there, I’m happy,” he says quietly. 

She laughs, shaking her head wildly. “Fuck, Josh, I can’t – I can’t believe this is happening,” she whispers, and then melts into quiet tears, pressing her face into his shoulder. 

He rocks her back and forth, stroking her back and loose curls over her dress. “Me neither,” he murmurs into her ear. 

“I love you,” she says, voice hoarse with tears.

In response, he cups the back of her head and tilts her up for his kiss. She tastes of salt and wine and him. She’s the only one he ever wants to kiss again like this, the only one who has ever made his entire self come alive. And he wants her to know it. 

Later, curled up together under the covers in the bedroom where they had some of their firsts, they will sleep until the ocean dawn creeps in through the windows. They will go to the inn for a late Christmas breakfast, and Taylor and Amelia will squeal at Thalia’s ring while hugs and champagne (and sparkling cider) are handed out. Matt, Luke, Sam, and Tom will all hug him harder than he’s been hugged since enlisting. Allison, seven months pregnant, will tear up, and the cousins will all yell and climb on Josh’s arms and legs in celebration. Meg and Tess and Kate tear up and kiss them both on the cheeks. 

Later still, Josh will take Thalia home to her parents, and they will share the news of both the engagement and the job offer. Her parents are warm and welcoming, and he can’t help but forgive them his teenage trespasses. News spreads around Dare Island like a brushfire, and soon townsfolks are dropping by every Fletcher house with cakes and congratulations and joy. 

In a few months, Josh will turn in his book manuscript. He spends a week every month in Boston with Thalia. In April, they go house hunting in Wilmington, and find a fixer-upper with good bones, a wide front porch, and a fenced-in yard. In July, Thalia and Josh move into their new home. A wedding is planned for November.

But, for now, Josh Fletcher kisses Thalia Hamilton in his old bedroom, and thanks everything in the world for second chances. 

*


End file.
